In the Pursqueeter
by Tyranusfan
Summary: After winning The Big Demon Battle, Sam and Dean struggle to deal with the aftermath of the hunt, and are blindsided by some unfinished business. Sequel to Dead Man's Blood. Rated T, for language and mild violence.
1. Chapter 1

**_POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT!_**

_I set this after the hunt for the demon, and thus it would be sometime after the upcoming season finale. _

_I've made a couple of assumptions, namely that John Winchester died during the battle with the demon, and, based on a promotional screenshot I saw, that John was possessed by the demon sometime during the action, Sam is forced to kill John when Dean is injured, that they won the battle and the demon is dead, and finally that Sam decided to stay with Dean, rather than go back to school. But these are only assumptions. If the season finale is different, I may re-edit to remove some of that._

_I know that's alot of setup, but I wanted to be sure you know where our heroes are standing._

_I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed._

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**In the ****Pursqueeter**

Dean tossed his bag against the side of the bed, too tired to care if the contents spilled out or not. He flopped gracelessly onto the lumpy mattress with a sigh, and watched Sam drag ass through the door. The kid looked as exhausted as Dean felt. He smirked as he watched Sam fumble with closing the door, finally kicking it shut with a frown as he wrestled the two duffle bags into the room with him. Sam glanced in Dean's direction and scowled.

"Dude, don't hurt yourself helping."

Dean's smirk grew, "Hey, I said leave 'em in the car, Sammy. Not my fault you're too stubborn to listen."

"We need our stuff, Dean," was Sammy's only reply. Dean shook his head. Sam still refused to settle in any room without their bags and at least some of their weapons. The incident in Chicago with the daevas had an enormous effect on his little brother, who, even months after the ambush, still insisted on being ready for anything. It was a welcome change, as far as Dean was concerned, since the side effect was that Sam was a little extra committed to being prepared. But, Sam, as always, took it a step too far. Dean seriously doubted that any ghoulies were waiting to ambush them in this little dot on the map town outside of Dayton, Ohio. Dean had brought his knife in, as usual, safely tucked into his own bag with a few other "tools," but he didn't think the rest of the equipment was necessary. Besides, even though he'd been given a clean bill of health after leaving the hospital, and his injuries were healed, he still felt a little weak. Not that he'd ever tell Sammy that…the kid worried too much.

Besides, he and Sam weren't on a hunt right now. Hell, they hadn't _been_ on a hunt in over two months. They'd just spent a week with Dean in the hospital, and another _six_ weeks recuperating at Missouri Moseley's home in Kansas after their battle with their mom's killer …and their dad's funeral. They'd seen a few potential jobs in the news, but neither of them really had their heart in the game. Instead, Dean had surprised both himself and Sam by suggesting that they head to New York, and pay a visit to Sarah.

Sam had protested at first, as he often did, but Dean had won out, claiming that Sam needed the break. In truth, Dean needed it too, but he was content to let Sam think that he was merely playing 'big brother,' a role that Dean often fell into and that Sam had no defense against. Sam had "puppy dog eyes," and Dean had "all-knowing big brother." It was mutually assured domination over the other brother. Dean couldn't say no to Sam when he got "that look," and Sam couldn't win an argument with Dean when he went into "that zone." So, they headed for New York. Besides, he was still enjoying playing matchmaker with Sam and Sarah.

The ride thus far had been quiet. Both men watched I-70 rush by outside the car windows in near complete silence. Speaking only when stopped for gas, or food, or when one of the cell phones rang, which wasn't that often. Dean had changed his message to indicate that he and Sam were unavailable for any jobs, and Sam only really talked to Sarah anymore. All of Sam's college friends seemed to have moved on, and Sam, as far as Dean could tell, had stopped caring one way or another. Dean didn't know what to make of _that_ development. Sam hadn't really stayed in touch with them that much since leaving California anyway, but, in the last few months, he had stopped trying altogether. Many of the names once found in Sam's cell phone memory had even been deleted. Dean didn't ask why.

Dean didn't ask. That was how he'd survived the last two months. Sam did all the asking, most of the talking, some of the brooding. Asking meant acknowledging. Acknowledging meant remembering. Remembering…was simply too painful.

The funeral had been bleak…to say the least. Only a handful were present: Missouri, Jefferson, Sarah (who had come to support Sam, even though she still understood little of what they did for a living, and she had to return to New York the next day), a few of their dad's other contacts/fellow hunters, and of course, Sam and Dean. Dean had been utterly silent during the whole affair. The others paid their respects to Sam, unwilling, or unable to face Dean. Dean had kept his eyes on the simple casket the entire time, only making eye contact with Sam. If the look in his little brother's eyes had been any indication, what he'd seen in Dean's face had been horrifying. Dean didn't ask Sam what he saw. He couldn't.

Only Missouri had dared speak to him that day. Whether she had read his mind or not, he didn't know, and she didn't say. He'd spoken to her quietly. Answering, replying, but not really listening. He prayed, silently, that she wouldn't pry. Her psychic ability intimidated the hell out of him. She knew it. He knew that she knew. But seeing Dean that raw, that vulnerable, was a privilege reserved _solely_ for Sam, ever since Dean was ten years old, and he intended to keep it that way until the day he died. Only Sam deserved that. Only Sam was allowed claim so much of his heart. Hell, even so, he rarely even showed that side of himself to _Sam_. He sure as hell wasn't going to display it to near strangers, no matter how close they'd been to his father.

_How close they'd been…past tense._

Sam hadn't been much better off that day. Dean could see that the boy was barely holding himself together, and was forcing himself to be strong in order to take the pressure off his older brother. Dean had never loved Sammy more than in that moment. He could never repay Sam for that gesture. But, as guilty as he felt for letting Sam take the brunt of it all, he simply couldn't bring himself to face his _own_ grief, let alone Sam's.

So, he'd walled himself up. The funeral was over before Dean had even realized it. Sam had to touch his shoulder in order to get his attention when the others had gone. Only then had Dean realized that they were alone.

"_It's over." It wasn't a question, and Dean didn't mean the funeral._

"_They're all gone." It wasn't an answer, and Sam wasn't referring to the mourners._

"_Sam? You think he's with mom?" Dean hated how his voice cracked._

"_I know he is." Sam didn't hear Dean's voice crack, he'd swear to that later._

"_What do we do now?" Not referring to the rest of that day._

"_Get drunk." Not answering Dean's question._

They had. Two days in a row in fact. Missouri had complained loudly about the empty beer bottles littering the kitchen, but she made no move to end the makeshift, belated wake. She'd mostly stayed away, no matter how much noise they made, or how quiet they were. They laughed. They cried. They tried to forget. Dean thought that he'd had more success with that last part than Sam.

Dean had noted that Sam was drinking more since that week. Sam had always been a two-beer drinker. Two beers and it was karaoke time. Not since the funeral. Sam had magically overcome his two-drink maximum. He could drink Dean under the table now. Dean should have been worried. He should have taken that as a warning sign that Sam might be slipping down the same slope that their dad had slid down in the months after mom's death, all those years ago. Dean should have asked Sam about it. But that would require remembering Dad in detail.

So, he didn't ask. His fear of what might happen was overshadowed by his fear of what would happen if he stopped to think. Thinking was bad.

"You want the shower first?" Sam asked, not looking up from his unpacking.

"Nah, go ahead."

Sam stepped into the small bathroom without a word, but he did glance back at Dean before closing the door. Dean noticed. He hoped that Sam wasn't going to bring anything up when he came out. But, Dean knew that look.

Once the sound of running water began to thrum through the walls, Dean left the bed to retrieve the remote for the TV off the dresser, and retrieved his knife from his bag. In one motion, he slipped the knife under the pillow and flipped down onto his back, clicking on the television. He flipped channels for a few minutes, before settling on The Weather Channel. The music always put him to sleep. Not that he slept all that much anymore. The irony wasn't lost on Dean that nowadays, _Sam_ was the better sleeper.

Dean couldn't, no _wouldn't_ complain about the fact that Sam's nightmares has eased since the---in recent weeks, but he was growing more and more curious as to whether that was a natural development, or an alcohol-induced one. Not that Sam was an out of control drinker or anything, by any means, just that he was apparently growing fonder of nightcaps. Dean would be forced to ask sooner or later, but was hoping for later. Maybe he could steer Sarah into asking for him. Dean, the brave big brother, could be a coward too…when he wanted to be.

The sound of the shower turning off broke Dean out of his thoughts. He turned his full attention to the TV now. It was supposed to rain in Dayton the next day. Maybe they'd wait out the storm before resuming the trek to New Paltz. He'd talk to Sa--

A knock at the door startled him. He rose silently off the bed, stopping quickly to retrieve the 9mm from his duffle. He crept quietly towards the door, gun held behind his back. Some hunting skills didn't go away, no matter how long a hunter had been on the bench. Another, louder series of knocks followed the first, and then Dean heard a slurred voice.

"Hey, baby? It's Drew, open up…"

With a frown, Dean reached forward and jerked opened the door. Outside, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniel's, was a blue-eyed, blonde-haired kid. He couldn't have been more than twenty. Dean eyed him for a moment, assessing the threat. It didn't appear too serious. This guy could barely stand. He had a soccer player's build, and a look of total bewilderment on his face as his blurred blue eyes met Dean's green suspicious ones. Dean recovered first.

"Think you got the wrong room, dude."

The kid (_Drew was it?)_ blinked a few times before shaking his head, "Oh, man. Sorry…I was looking for my girlfriend. Sorry." He shook his head and stumbled down the sidewalk towards the next set of doors. Dean sighed and closed the door. Latching it, he returned his gun to the bag and sank back onto his pillow_. Drunken teens, what a boring town…._

Sam emerged from the bathroom in his sleep clothes. He glanced at Dean, then at the door.

"Did I hear the door?"

Dean nodded, "Wrong room. Just some drunk kid."

Sam nodded, and climbed onto his bed with a tired groan. Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye, as his brother pretended to watch the weather report, and surreptitiously glance over at Dean. Dean was too tired to watch that for more than a few minutes, so he turned to face Sam with a frown.

"Spill it, Sammy."

Sam faced him. Dean realized with some surprise that it was the first time Sam had looked him directly in the eye in days. That bothered him for reasons he couldn't explain. He watched Sam try to form a thought before speaking….he still had that look on his face. It was Sam's I'm-going-to-tell-you-something-and-you're-not-going-to-like-it-but-you-need-to-hear-it look. It was the look that told Dean that Sam Winchester would have been an excellent lawyer. _Maybe he still will be._

"I…it's nothing really, I just…." Sam faltered for a moment, before inhaling a deep breath, like he wanted to rush out whatever he was going to say before he lost his nerve. "I saw something in the paper today, a 'wild dog' or something that's attacked three or four camping groups in upstate New York…'bout an hour away from Sarah's place. I wasn't sure, but it sounded like this reference to a 'devil dog' in Dad's journal. I wondered if you wanted to check it out while we were there."

Sam raised his eyebrows and handed the clipped article and the journal out to Dean expectantly. Dean stared hard at the leather-bound book before grabbing it from Sam's hand and tossing it unceremoniously onto the nightstand. He shook his head and returned his gaze to the television.

"Nah, probably just some pooch with rabies. I don't think it's worth the trouble."

Dean saw Sam shrug and return to watching the TV. Or, pretending to watch the TV…whatever the hell he was doing. He almost missed Sam's low murmur.

"Why won't you even look at it?"

Dean scowled, "I told you, it's probably just a mutt."

"I mean Dad's journal," Sam replied, turning to face him again, "You won't even look at it."

Dean's bravado automatically masked his face…he was still good at this….

"Don't need to, bro. I know everything in there, cover to cover."

"Never stopped you before."

A strange sensation overtook his body, and Dean couldn't stop the fury from exploding into his voice as he spun on Sam, "I don't need to look at the fucking book, Sam! I've read it a hundred times!"

Sam was whispering now, "It's all that's left of him, Dean."

Seven words. Seven words and Sam tore the mask right off of him. His fury bubbled over, even as he heard his brain ask: _Why are you yelling at Sam?_

"Don't you think I FUCKING KNOW THAT?"

Sam said nothing, there was nothing to say. Dean saw the stricken look take hold on his brother's face, and a small tear run down that young face, and felt something snap inside his own chest. Biting back his next words, and terrified that his own eyes might betray him next, he raised his, now shaking, hands in surrender, and took the only course open to him. He retreated.

"I need to get something to drink." He grabbed his coat and all but ran for the door. He heard Sam's cut off words behind him before the door finished closing.

"Dean, wait! Please---"

The door's solid _CLUNK_ cut off whatever else Sam tried to say. Dean fell back against it for a second, letting the chilly night air wash over him as he caught his breath. He felt the urge to turn around and go back in. Guilt took hold almost immediately as he remembered the look on Sam's face. _What did he even say to make me yell like that?_

Dean realized with some alarm that he couldn't clearly remember what had just happened. Rubbing his hand over his eyes and feeling a sudden headache coming on, he glanced around. He saw a 24-hour convenience store across the street. It seemed as good a place as any to pull himself together. He'd calm down, get some sodas, maybe a couple of beers, then come back and try to figure out what the hell just happened. He chided himself that he should probably apologize to Sammy too. At that thought, he nearly turned and re-entered the room, but stopped. _Better come back with a peace offering first…Sammy's mean when he's angry, and he can lay on a guilt trip with the best of them…. Yeah, definitely some beers._

Dean made his way across the street, a glance down the parking lot revealing that drunken guy from before, sitting on the hood of an old Subaru, downing some more from that bottle he'd been carrying. _Dumbass probably still can't find his room. _Shaking his head, he hurried across the street and entered the store. He'd grab some food and drinks, and head back over to the room. It was going to be a long night, he was sure.

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Sam wiped the wetness from his eyes and tried to think of something he could say when Dean returned. He hadn't meant to set him off like that. _Or did I?_

With some concern, he began to wonder if he hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't really care about the dog attack either; it had just seemed a good way to broach the subject of the weird way Dean had been acting around their Dad's remaining belongings. He hadn't meant for the topic to upset his older brother so much. He kicked himself for his choice of words.

_It's all that's left of him, Dean._

That had been cruel, and not at all what Sam had meant to say at that moment. It just slipped out. He'd have to apologize for that. The look on Dean's face, and the way he'd raised his hands in defeat broke Sam's heart. Wiping the last tear from his face (he hadn't meant for _that_ to slip out either, he noted bitterly), he glanced at the clock. Dean had been gone a little over ten minutes. He hoped Dean would return soon. He had a lot of repair work to do before the exhaustion of traveling all day forced them to crash.

He jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. Blinking several times, he realized that he didn't remember Dean grabbing a door key when he ran out. This was Dean coming back. He jumped up, tried to pull himself together and went to open the door. He gaped openly for a moment at the sight of a grinning girl standing outside the doorway. She smiled at him and nodded in greeting.

"Hi, there."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly his blood ran cold. He recognized her. Before he could utter a word, though, the windows on the other side of the room exploded inwards. Sam shot a glance behind him at the noise, and then dove for Dean's pillow and the concealed knife. His blood pounded in his ears as he grabbed the hilt of the massive blade and spun to face the intruders.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Let me just say thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far. Before I started posting on this site, I never thought I'd be sitting in rapt anticipation of other people's reviews. It's both encouraging and humbling, to say the least. Thank you._

_Also, for anyone who's seen "Salvation," I think that opening music montage was totally kick-ass, and they should edit that into an opening credits sequence next year, if you ask me. In the meantime, I've found new music to play while I'm writing these stories._

_I don't own anything._

_Reviews welcomed._

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**Chapter 2**

Dean shook his head as he crossed the street back to the hotel. The trip to the convenience store had taken a lot longer than he'd wanted. Getting stuck behind some irate dude who couldn't speak English and with a cashier that couldn't care less hadn't been part of the plan. _Twenty minutes to buy some lousy snack food and beer? You gotta be kidding me._

He hoped Sam was still awake. He wanted---no he needed---to apologize. He realized with a chuckle that a year ago he wouldn't have been so dead-set on a voluntary chick-flick moment with Sammy. But, that was a year ago. A year ago, when Sam was away at school, and Da--

_Stop thinking! Stop thinking! Stop it!_

He refused to finish that thought. Momentarily fuming again, he focused on Sam. Sam had busted his ass these last two months, taking both the emotional and physical burden off Dean ever since the funeral. Sam had kept him above water, at the cost of his own grief. Dean stopped and waited for a car---that drunken kid's Subaru looked like---to pass him in the parking lot, noting with dismay the crappy paint job on it, and the unsightly smudge of red paint on the back door. _People should take better care of their cars_. As he watched it pass, he remembered the day they left Missouri's house. She'd pulled him aside while Sam loaded their gear and meager belongings into the car.

"_Dean?" _

"_Yeah?"_

"_It's a long drive to New York, honey…you need to talk to your brother."_

He'd laughed it off, quipping that 'Sammy could talk enough for both of them.' She'd just frowned and gave him that stern glare that had always made him feel like he was eight and caught stealing cookies. He charmed his way out, like always, and stubbornly refused to acknowledge anything being wrong with Sam.

Looking back now, days later, he knew that he was just kidding himself. No one could be alright after what they'd been through. No one could claim to even _believe_ what they'd had to do…what _Sam_ had had to do. Sammy should have been a basket case. But, much to Dean's surprise, he kept as firm a mask as Dean had ever worn in place over his feelings the whole time on the road so far. His older brother had taught Sammy well. _And it's just not right…. _In fact, the hurt and the solitary tear he'd glimpsed tonight had been the first real emotional expression he seen on Sam since the two nights they'd gotten wasted after the funeral. _That's not like Sam…._

He made it to the door just as a crack of thunder rolled across the night sky, heralding the storm he'd seen in the forecast earlier. _Before I ran away from Sam like a coward. _He'd pushed Sam away because he couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle taking care of Sam's grief…he couldn't even deal with his own

_I gotta talk to him before _he _leaves me too._

Another rolling thunderbolt echoed through the air as he fumbled around for his room key. Dammit! He'd left it on the bed. _Shit! _He raised his hand to knock and get Sam to let him in when he noticed the door was cracked open slightly. Hmm. Sam must have realized that he'd forgotten the key and kept the door open for him. A surge of irritation flushed through him. _Sam knows better. _He pushed the door open and called out.

"Hey, Sammy, you know better than to---"

His first look into the dimly lit room stopped him cold. He stood in the doorframe, examining the devastated hotel room. The place was totally trashed. The dim light was the result of the two lamp fixtures dangling limply from their wires from where they'd been bashed out of the wall. Sam's bag was…well, everywhere. It looked like it had been used to bludgeon someone…or something.

Dean dropped the food by the door, not caring when he heard one of the beer bottles shatter. He moved cautiously into the room. He could see into the bathroom from that spot, and Sam wasn't in there. Sam was no where to be found. He stopped by the foot of his bed when he heard a _CHINK_ against his steel-toed boot. His eyes dropped to seek the source of the sound even as he lowered into a crouch. He saw the source, and if he wasn't scared before, he was petrified now.

His knife, the one always---ALWAYS---under his pillow, lay on the floor, slightly under the bed skirt. His eyes skirted to the pillow, which had been hastily tossed aside, and then back to the knife. He looked closer, and he froze. There was blood on the blade. The rush of panic he felt was partially stifled by the experienced, analytical mind of a man who'd hunted since he was twelve. No one knew about the knife. Just Sam. Therefore, only Sam would have known where to get it. _Sam_ had used it. Therefore, the blood wasn't Sam's, it was someone else's. SomeTHING else's. He hoped. That meant that Sam hadn't left the room without a fight.

An irrational surge of pride washed over him. Sam had done this. _Sam put up one HELL of a fight before whatever it was…did what?_ There was nobody in the room, and more importantly, for Dean's sanity, there was no BODY in the room either. He retrieved his knife and stood, his eyes dancing over the shattered glass in front of the windows...over the cracked television screen…over the wreckage of the small table and one of the chairs. Over the…_what is that?_ He moved to examine the cheap plaster wall beside the wrecked table. There was a dent in it. A dent about four inches long in the soft plaster, that he was sure hadn't been there when he'd left. There was a small trickle of blood along its edge. _More_ _blood_. Someone's head had been slammed into the wall. He didn't want to know whose, but he had a good idea.

The analytical part of his brain picked that moment to shut down, only a minute or two after it had taken over really, and panic rushed in to fill the void.

"**SAM!**" He dashed out the door, knife still gripped in his hand, and scanned the parking lot. No one.

'Sam!" No answer.

He glanced at the car. It was untouched---the car…. He replayed the last few minutes in his mind's eye, seeing the car that had passed him when he was coming back. _That wasn't red paint…FUCK!_

He bolted back into the room. He grabbed the car keys, the room key, his cell, and the Beretta from his bag, and raced back out to the car. Dumping his weapons and cell in the seat beside him, he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot. He steered in the direction he'd last seen the beat up Subaru heading.

Why would a drunken kid attack Sam? Wait…the kid had seemed too drunk to stand up straight…there was no way that Sam could be outfought by that kid. _Something is seriously wrong with this situation._

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_Something is seriously wrong with this situation…._

Sam returned to consciousness before he was physically capable of opening his eyes. He could hear music…the kind you hear in sleazy dance clubs…and, according to Dean, brothels. He'd never asked Dean how he knew that. Maybe he should. _Dean? Sonnuva…._ Dean was going to freak when he returned to the room. Freaked out Dean led to angry Dean. Angry Dean was dangerous. Angry Dean was potentially lethal.

Wait…had Dean been taken too? He needed to see where he was. He needed to see if they had grabbed his brother too. They…those fucking vampires they'd fought in Colorado a few months ago. It had taken a minute to recognize the girl at the door as Kate, the life-mate of the late vampire Luther, whom had died at his dad's hands in Manning. Seemed she had put a gang back together in the last few months. If she had tracked them all this time, then he and Dean were probably in a lot of trouble. _Dammit_. _We should have finished those damn vampires off before leaving Colorado_. _Too late now I guess…._

He willed his eyes to open, and was momentarily dismayed when they wouldn't_. Not good…well, not normal anyway._ He tried again, and was pleased when they responded to his command this time. He was less pleased when his head started pounding upon the opening of his eyes.

He was even _less_ pleased to finally see the place in which he was currently sitting. It appeared to be a common room inside a log cabin. A fire burned in a fireplace, but Sam was cold. A quick glance downward explained the draftiness of the surrounding air. He was shirtless. He saw some cuts along his bruised left side, where he had been slammed into the hotel's television. _Not much blood, that's a good thing_. He remembered the creatures that they were dealing with, and he suddenly wasn't so sure if a _lack_ of blood was good or not.

His drowsy, fogged brain tried to put the pieces together. He was tied up…to a support beam it looked like. He was shirtless. He was cold. He quite possibly had a concussion. And the last thing he remembered before waking up was taking a vicious roundhouse kick to the head from that blonde vampire guy, followed by the interesting sight of the white hotel room wall racing towards his face. Given how hard he found it to assemble even that brief analysis in his throbbing head, and the squinting he had to do in order to see clearly, he was willing to bet the concussion part was accurate.

The sound of an opening door startled him out of any further contemplation of his predicament. Kate entered the room, with the blonde guy and a few others, who he'd have to assume were also vampires, in tow. She leered at him and stopped right in front of where he was tied to the post.

"Hello, again…think we can have a warmer welcome this time?"

Sam snarled at her, "Sure, why don't you untie me first?"

"Oohh," she purred, clicking her tongue in disapproval and kneeling down next to him, "someone's got some unresolved aggression…." She ran her fingers down his chest, smirking when he tried to squirm away.

"Hey, hey…personal space, huh?" he quipped_. Dean must be rubbing off on me…._

Kate replied by trying to kiss him. He jerked his head away in disgust, but immediately regretted the action when a wave of dizziness hit him. Stifling the sudden urge to throw up, he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on just breathing. He desperately ignored what her hands were doing until he heard her whisper uncomfortably close to his ear.

"Hot young man like you? We can have all kinds of fun together."

"I _think_ I've already got a girlfriend, thanks." He fired back, but winced internally at giving important information away. Oh well…at least Sarah was no where near here.

"Oh. Well, how about your friend? The one you are traveling with? As I remember, he was a little…friendlier last time."

_My friend? Dean. The vampires don't know who we are. And since she asked, Dean must be okay. That's good. _

"As I remember it, Kate, the last time you tried to hook up with 'my friend,' you took an arrow through the heart…."

Kate responded by slamming her fist into his groin. The pain that lanced up through his torso from the area of his waste blotted out the symptoms of his concussion. He wasn't sure, at this point, which he'd prefer if he had to choose. He went back to just breathing until the pain ebbed away. He couldn't resist channeling Dean again…taunting the bad guys _was_ fun, he'd give Dean that.

"Sorry, hit a nerve there, Kate?"

She scowled and stood up, "Kinda rude, kiddo. You know my name but I don't know yours. Wanna tell me?"

"Um," Sam made a thoughtful face, "no, not really."

"Heh. Well, then, maybe Drew will change your mind. Drew?" she looked back at the blonde kid from the hotel, "why don't you take him into the back room and see if _you can hit a nerve_…or two."

Drew smiled and motioned for two of the others, who promptly untied Sam and began wrestling him towards a door beside the fireplace. As he was drug roughly through the door, he heard Drew speak.

"Any requests, Kate?"

Kate answered, "Don't let him die." _It didn't sound like a request_, Sam thought.

TBC

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	3. Chapter 3

_tracer2032 asks a good question, so for whoever's wondering: the vamps in "Dead Man's Blood" were only told that John's name was Winchester, they never heard "Dean" or "Sam," and don't even know that the three are related._

_For those who asked about the title: It's a reference to "Hell House," when Sam talks about the websites and Dean replies "most of the people on those websites wouldn't know a ghost if it came up and bit 'em in the pursqueeter." Now…I looked, and there is a definition online for this term…but, in context here it clearly meant "in the butt." So that's the definition I'm running with. They let the vamps go in Colorado, and now that oversight has come back to bite them…in the pursqueeter._

_Sam fans? As they say, it gets darker before the dawn._

_I don't own anything._

_Reviews welcomed._

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**Chapter 3**

His arms were numb. Not the numbness you get at the dentist, more like the numbness you get when you sleep on your arm or your hand, where first it tingles, then it hurts, then you can feel it but not feel _with_ it, then you can't feel it, but somehow you know it's there. That kind of numb.

If he'd cared to glance up, he'd have remembered why…he was hanging by his wrists from a ceiling beam in the cabin's back room. But, it didn't really matter. It wasn't any warmer in here than it had been in the other room. He still didn't have a shirt on, and, much to his shivering disappointment, his sleeping shorts had gone when he was tied up in here. That didn't help with the draftiness, guys.

_Doesn't matter, just don't tell them anything._

Pain.

_Nope, I'm not telling you my name._

Pain.

_Not telling you his name either._

Pain.

_I said no, bloodsucking motherf---_

Pain. _Damn that hurts!_

_That's not the recommended use for needle nose pliers---_

Pain.

_Dammit, Dean, stop making me say this stuff, it's only pissing them off._

_I'm not making you say anything, Sammy._

_It's Sam_.

_Who the hell am I talking to? Dean's not here, remember? And who the hell is screaming like that? He sounds pretty close. Jesus, let him rest a minute would ya?_

Pain.

_Ah, damn, come on. Not the hot poker again._

PAIN.

_Was this what Dean felt at the Benders' place? Shit. No wonder he didn't want to talk about it…. Good, yeah, put the poker back in the little stove, good vampire. Oh, what the hell? Don't do THAT._

**PAIN**.

_Maybe just my name…that can't hurt…_

**PAIN**.

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8:00 AM

Dean pulled the car into the parking lot of a place called "Sam's Diner."

_Great, mock me, God. That's what I need…._

He parked the car and rested his head against the steering wheel. It had been a long night. People who say that should try spending ten hours searching a backwater Ohio town for their little brother. In the rain. Driving back and forth along the same 16 roads. Yup, 16 roads in this town. All of them pitch black during the night. _Their called streetlights get some!_ He banged his head against the wheel a couple of times, just to keep himself awake. It didn't help much.

_Goddammit…why do you keeping taking Sam? Is it something I did? Please…just leave him alone…I'll try harder._

If anything (He, She, or It?) resided above those clouds, it didn't reply. Dean was on his own. He needed some caffeine, fast. It wasn't going to help Sam if he was passed out in the car. He was exhausted but he didn't care. He'd sleep when he was dead. Sighing, he climbed out of the car and stumbled into the diner. The nice middle-aged woman at the counter took his coffee order, while he ignored her gasp at his appearance.

"Sweetie, you look terrible! Are you alright?"

_No, I'm not. My brother's missing. I haven't slept in about twenty-three hours, and my father's de---arrghh! Don't make me think lady!_

"Fine, just the coffee, please. A large."

"Ok, hun, just go sit down before you fall over, ok?"

He nodded automatically, and sank into the booth nearest the door. He wanted to put his head on the table and sleep, and he knew he'd be out immediately if he did. Instead, he sat ramrod straight and pulled out a map of the area he'd picked up at that convenience store sometime during the night. That same, uncaring cashier was still on duty, and he vaguely remembered saying something about her attitude when he got the map. He didn't remember what she'd said, but he remembered how pale she'd turned when he replied.

"Here ya go. You sure you don't need anything?" It was the woman from the counter.

_DO I NEED ANYTHING? Hell yes I need something. I need to find Sam, I need to apologize for yelling at him, I need to kick his ass for being a trouble magnet, and then I need to hug him for being my brother!_

Dean shook his head no, downed about a third of the coffee in one gulp, and returned to the map. His vision began to swim and the lines blurred_. Oh yeah, I need to sit here and cry for a minute too, 'cause I don't know what to do…. _

_Goddammit, Dean! Pull yourself together, your brother needs you!_

Dean jumped and glanced around at the sound of his father's voice. He struggled to bring his breathing under control. He shook his head. No, he didn't hear that. It was just in his mind. He looked back at the map, and noted with some surprise that his vision had cleared. _Back to work_. He'd searched all the main roads leading into and out of the town. There'd been a few abandoned houses and barns that looked like good hiding places, but they'd all been empty. He wasn't even sure what had taken Sam. There had been very little evidence at the hotel. He didn't know where to look.

He heard the door jingle as it opened, and the hostess' muttered: "Great…here comes trouble." He didn't look up. Local troublemakers were irrelevant. He traced one of the roads on the map with his finger…it lead out from the area of the hotel into what looked like alot of nothing, a few houses and side streets at most. But, he knew from experience that "nothing" on maps meant alot of places to hide or hold up. It wasn't exactly a lead, but it was better than…well, nothing. He had made it about two-thirds of the way though his coffee, when he heard the hostess again.

"We don't need any trouble today, Drew, you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Dean froze. He knew that voice. He looked up and found the drunken guy from the night before, standing casually at the counter, staring directly at Dean. Dean kept his face impassive, and polished off the last of his coffee. The blonde kid swaggered over to Dean's table and plopped himself down on the other side. Dean's eyes fixed the kid, and his hand casually dropped under the table to rest on his gun. With his other hand, he slid the coffee mug roughly across the table and out of the way. The kid just stared at him, waiting for something. Dean broke the silence first.

"Funny meetin' you here."

For a second, he didn't think the kid heard him, but then the kid settled back against the seat cushions like he didn't have a care in the world. If this guy took Sam, Dean planned on showing him that he had at least ONE care.

"Dean Winchester?" the kid finally spoke.

_Uh-oh_. Dean didn't answer, just raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Nice to finally meet you," the kid said, "My name's Drew. We sort of met last night."

Dean kept quiet, cocking his head to acknowledge. He would just let Drew talk...he'd learn more that way.

Drew nodded to the map with a smirk, "Lose something?"

Dean growled, and he felt the map crumple in his fist. "What do you want?"

Drew grinned like he'd just made a new friend, "Me? I just wanted to meet _you_. My girlfriend's done nothing but talk about you. She talks about you all the time. But, we didn't even know you're name until last night."

Dean blinked, trying to process what was so very _wrong_ about this guy. "Yeah, speaking of that…how---?"

"Oh, Sam told me."

Dean saw red creeping into his peripheral vision. "Where is he?"

Drew kept talking as if he hadn't heard, "Man, you should be proud of that kid. It took me _six_ hours to get two little names out of him."

Dean's blood froze in his veins. _Six hours, what did that mean?_

Drew kept talking, "And, wow, man…what a screamer. He should have been a singer."

Dean's blood started pounding in his ears and for a second all he could hear was his own heavy breathing…that was never good. Drew leaned forward like he was about to share a secret.

"Easy there, hunter. Turn around."

Dean frowned, but followed Drew's gaze across the diner.

"See that little hottie over there, wearing the black jacket? If I don't walk out of here, she makes a phone call, and it's Kibbles-N-Bits time for Sammy."

Dean made eye contact with the girl in question, and she waved back like this was high school and a cute guy had spotted her. _This is insane…what are these people?_ He turned back to Drew, and tried to calm down. It wouldn't do Sam any good if he got impulsive now.

"Why?"

Drew laughed, "Wow, that's a loaded question, Dean. My girlfriend's name is Kate, said she met you in Colorado a few months back. Apparently, you two had something together. I'm a little jealous, gotta say…."

_Kate…Kate? Son of a bitch!_ The vampire nest they'd busted up. He knew they should have finished them off, but Dad was hell-bent on using that Colt pistol on the demon. _Dad…_. He wavered a bit on that thought. Suddenly, the weight of the last two and a half months threatened to collapse on him. _Not here. Gotta find Sam. Vampires. Kate. Sam. Got it? _He let go of his gun, it wasn't going to do him any good with this guy.

"Yeah…Kate. Dark road, a little foreplay, couple of arrows. Good times." He quipped. Mask firmly in place? Check.

Drew seemed to share the humor, "Yeah, I heard. Whew! She is Pissed. At. You."

Dean was nearing the end of his self-control, "Well, _Drew_, you have my attention."

Drew produced Sam's cell phone from his pocket. Dean tried to ignore the smear of blood and the scuff marks on it. "Kate says stay by your phone. If you want your brother back, she'll call and tell you where to go. Got it?" He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

_Yeah, right, like THAT's not a trap…wait…what if they turned Sammy…._

"What did you do to Sam?" Another smirk crossed Drew's face. _Oh,'blonde soccer drunk' is going to pay._

The 'blonde-soccer-drunk' actually looked pleased with himself, "Ha-ha…he had a long night...a little bruising, a couple of burns, a little run-in with a live electrical wire, a real party. But, man, like I said, he held out alot longer than most people would have. Heh, actually, it took longer to get _your_ name out of him than it did _his_. He must care about you al---"

It pleased Dean that the vampire never saw it coming, he was out of the booth before Drew stopped talking. Grabbing the back of the kid's muscular neck, he slammed him face-first into the tabletop. He relished the sound of the kid's nose breaking, feeling pure, uncontrollable rage coursing through his body. It was invigorating. He ignored the shocked murmuring from the other booths and leaned in close to whisper venomously in Drew's ear through gritted teeth.

"You think it's _funny_ to torture my brother, bitch? Before I'm done with you, you're gonna know what _pain_ is."

The blonde little bitch actually _snarled_ at him, "You get this one for free, hunter. Kate's gonna make _you_ pay, too. Let me up, before my friend dials her phone."

Dean glanced up at the girl, who was sitting at the edge of her booth with her hand on her phone. Dean stifled the urge to strangle them both. It wouldn't kill them anyway. He released the boy, and stepped back. Drew pushed himself up and wiped the blood from his face, never taking his eyes off Dean. Dean didn't even blink when the kid fake-lunged at him. _Jesus…was he turned into a vampire right out of high school?_

Drew motioned for his friend to follow, and left the diner. Dean watched them leave, took a few deep breaths, and tried to put a congenial expression on his face as he retrieved his discarded map from the table. He turned and walked over to the counter where the hostess from before was staring open-mouthed at him. He managed to muster up one of his charm-the-girls smiles, as Sam called them, and flashed it at her. Sam claimed that Dean could affect women of any age with it. Dean always countered that he was only interested in the younger ones.

"Sorry, about the trouble," he handed her enough money for the coffee and sizeable tip, with a glance back at the bloody table, he added, "and the mess."

"Hey, hun, don't worry about it, and call me Stella." She surprised him by smiling. _Maybe Sam's right about the smile…._ A quick glance around showed him more than a few other pleased expressions around the place. Apparently, he wasn't making TOO much trouble. He took the opening.

"Dean. So, what's that guy's problem anyway?" he asked Stella. He turned the grin up to "stun" to try and loosen her tongue a little. He needed all the help he could get right now.

She sighed, "Oh, him. What a shame. His name's Drew Cunningham. He's lived around here forever. Always a nice boy…athlete, state soccer champion in high school…he just graduated last year. He was working small jobs, trying to save money for college until about a month and half ago. Then he just…went bad. Everywhere he goes, starting fights, beating people up. Fell in with a new crowd. Bad one, too…but he never tried to start anything with out-of-towners until now." She smiled at him, "Guess he bit off a little more than he could chew today."

That explained the happy people…they must have been waiting for the kid to screw up like this. Dean wondered what they'd say if they knew the truth. He felt his walls starting to crumble again now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He needed to get out of here, before he came unglued right in front of her. Stella must have noticed the change though, because she touched his arm before he could pull away. He plastered what he hoped was a sincere "who-me?" smile on his face and shrugged her off.

"Well, I'm just passing through here. I'm not looking for any more trouble. I'll try and avoid _Drew_."

Stella huffed with amusement, "I can't blame you…but it looks like he needs to watch out for _you_, not the other way around. Just stay clear of the biker bar up the street, Drew's new 'friends' hang out there almost every night." She jabbed her thumb to indicate the road north of there. _Good place to start_.

"I'll do that. Thanks, Stella." He turned to leave, wheels in his head turning furiously. Drew's words mixed with his own, looping around in his head torturously...even that kid Michael from Wisconsin took turns kicking him.

_…It took me six hours to get two little names out of him... wow, man…what a screamer…_

_…as long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you…_

_…you said you were a big brother…do you take care of your little brother?_

He made it to the car before he felt his control start to slip. Gripping the steering wheel so hard it bent beneath his hands, he felt his emotional walls go from crumbling to collapsing. He glanced around the car, looking for something, anything, to destroy.

…_Sam, look…the three of us, it's all we have…and it's all I have…_

_Now it's just two._

His eyes fell on a bag of very disappointing potato chips he and Sam had picked out in a gas station just before leaving Kansas, and hadn't touched since the first handful. Without conscious thought, he leaned over in the seat and punched the bag as hard as he could. His brain took a break, while his fist kept pummeling the bag, harder and harder until his hand began to hurt.

'_Spicy barbeque' my ass! I've had spicier ice cream! Fucking lying bag of shit!_

He couldn't stop. He pounded the offensive bag until there was nothing but chip dust inside. He finally fell against the seat cushion, panting. His eyes watered so badly he could no longer see the object of his rage. _Watering, yeah, they're just watering…I got barbeque dust in my eyes…._ A choked cry of frustration escaped his lips. _I hope Sam's okay…._

"I'll make sure they go extinct _this_ time. Just watch me," he spoke to no one in particular. He just stayed there, breathing, trying to salvage some part of his self-control. His rebellious brain listed, categorized and worse, _remembered_ all the times Sammy had been hurt at school or injured while hunting…all the times Dean had patched, bandaged or cleaned one of Sammy's wounds…and he realized that now, when Sam probably needed him the most…_Dean, get your worthless ass out of this seat and DO something about it!_

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he managed to coerce his muscles into pushing him off the seat. Wiping his eyes, he tried to think. He needed a plan. He needed one right now. As it turned out, not _all_ of his memories were painful, and one jumped right out and grabbed his attention. He knew where his first stop needed to be. He glanced at the clock.

8:35 AM

_They sleep during the day_. He straightened his clothes and left the car, bounding back up to the diner door and plastering another innocent smile on his face. He opened it and stuck his head in, grinning.

"Hey, Stella? You know of any good flower shops around here?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_There's some…well, a trace amount of bloody imagery in this chapter, so if you're reading beyond your rated age level, just don't get me in trouble, ok?_

_Credit where credit is due: Drew is based on a college friend of mine. Soccer, martial arts, classic _**_Schwarzenegger flicks, and one of the nicest guys you'd ever meet. Sorry, Andrew, you gotta be the bad guy here. _**

_I don't own anything._

_Reviews welcomed._

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**Chapter 4**

_He is lying on the hard asphalt, freezing and sore to the point of numbness. He doesn't know how he got there. His head rests against cold metal…a car's bumper, he thinks. It's dark, but the moon is full, casting an eerie glow over everything. He hears scuffling nearby, he tries to look but can barely move. Kate rises into his field of vision…damn that's creepy, the way she does that…like a movie…she looks angry, and in pain. She's holding something in her hand…what is that? Looks like a crossbow…yeah, that's exactly what it is. Who's she pointing it at? He struggles to pull himself up, cutting his hand on something as he tries…he looks down to see a machete lying near him, he cut his hand on the blade. He cries out as he hoists his almost dead body up onto the hood of the parked car…he squints to see the figure Kate is pointing the crossbow at. Dean! Dean's beating the crap out of somebody…he hopes they deserve it. He watches Dean spin around to face Kate. He meets Dean's eyes, and for a moment, a look of sadness passes over them. Dean smiles at him…and Kate sends two arrows into Dean's chest. The last thing he sees is Dean, slumped against the car, tears flowing freely for once, with an expression so sad it rips the heart from his chest…._

"NO!" Sam lunges upward, surging forward in a belated attempt to prevent Dean's death. He nearly pulls his arms from their sockets, and flops back down with a cry of agony. _What the---_

_Wait… _The dream replays a few times in his head, each time with the same gut-wrenching finale. _That was a vision_.

His head doesn't seem to want to cooperate with lifting and turning, so he settles for allowing it to roll limply to his right. He immediately sees why he couldn't launch himself upward out of the dream…there are chains around his wrists, keeping his arms stretched out at right angles to his body. He manages another slow roll, and sees the same setup on his left. No wonder he couldn't move his arms. The chains felt like they weighed a ton. _Where the heck am I?_

It was difficult to look around with an uncooperative head, he discovered, but he was able to discern, barely, a wood roof with open rafters, unpainted, the walls were dark, and…lumpy? _Logs_. _This was a log cabin. Wait…wait…log cabin…why is that familiar? Kate. The vampire nest. Am I in Colorado? Hmm. We were in Manning, Daniel Elkins…Dad. Where are Dad and Dean? Are they here too?_

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. They were too blurred to see much else out of anyway. He was freezing. Just like in his dream. He couldn't seem to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. His mind was connecting strange, contradictory facts. He was cold, but he was wet with sweat. He was lying on a hard surface, but it was very comfortable at the moment. His right foot itched, but his left was asleep. Shaking his head helped clear it, but also caused a nauseating wave of dizziness to assault him. He chastised himself for his lack of mental discipline. He heard his father and Dean in his head, berating him for not listening during his training. No, he heard his _father_ chastise him, he heard Dean saying "you can do it, Sammy, try again."

_You're not paying attention, Sam. Try harder. You're trapped, and you don't know where. Focus and see what you can find out. _

Taking a few breaths, he reopened his eyes, and managed to lift his head. He looked past his chained right arm to the side of the room. An old black stove, like the ones normal people see in museums, and he saw in the room with Dean at the Benders, sat near the wall. A fire burned inside it. It wasn't much, but it did cast some light along that side of the room. So did a small crack in the wall, between the logs. It was enough to tell him it was daytime. Which part of the day he didn't know.

He was sore. No…not sore, exactly. _How to describe this…._ _Throbbing_. His body was throbbing. Why?

His eyes drifted down the wall to a small desk, or table. Even squinting, he couldn't quite tell. _Stupid eyes_. There were silver-colored tools of some sort arranged haphazardly atop the desk. He could just barely make out a pair of pliers. There were red-colored streaks along some of the tools.

_Tell me your name, hunter, and we'll stop. You'll be able to rest for a minute._

Sam gasped. It all came crashing back to him…his fogged mind relaxed and memories tumbled down over him like an avalanche. He remembered. Dad found the Colt, killing Luther proved it worked. Dad figured out the pattern…and _Sam_ was the reason the demon destroyed their family. Dean was wrong. It _was_ his fault. _I'm sorry mom_. _Please forgive me, Dean_. He remembered…Meg killed Pastor Jim, and Caleb. Salvation, Iowa…the baby, Rosie...they saved Rosie, but the demon got away. He remembered trying to go back in the burning house. He had to stop the demon…it was his fault anyway…he should be the one to die killing it. He remembered Dean stopping him. He remembered Lincoln, Nebraska. The demon, Meg, Dean nearly killed. Dad…. Pointing the Colt at John Winchester was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do…no son should ever be placed in that position. To choose between a father he loved but couldn't possibly save, and a brother that he desperately needed. By the numbers, it was easy. No hope versus hope…already gone versus still living. He remembered pulling the trigger.

He heard a devastated sob somewhere in the room. His vision swam. He felt something running down his face and neck. Not for the first time in the last two months, he hoped it was blood.

_I'm sorry Dean…I didn't have a choice…._

_I know, Sammy. I would have done the same thing._

For the first time in his life, he doubted Dean's honesty. Or…if not doubted, at least wondered about it. Who would Dean have chosen?

Kate…Kate in the hotel room. He was in Ohio. The blonde one…what a bastard _he_ was.

_Tell me your friend's name, and you get another break. Come on, Sam. Doesn't it hurt? Just say his name. That's all I want to know. He'll never know you told me._

_First I kill our father, and now I sell out my brother._

A glance down and he saw his battered and bruised body. The only part of his clothing left on him was his underwear. He should probably be worried about the stain of blood on those…but there were some parts of the previous night that he didn't want to recollect. That explained, at least, why he was still cold. He was beginning to hate winter. Or Spring. _What month was it anyway?_

He remembered his last words to Dean, how instead of reaching out to his grieving brother, he'd rubbed salt in an open wound…wielding Dad's journal life a knife.

_Why won't you even look at it? It's all that's left of him…_

Now he was probably going to die…or worse…and all he could think of was how Dean would feel. He remembered Chicago, telling Dean that he'd have to let him go, and never meaning it this _literally_. He wasn't that self-deluded. His death (or un-death) would _kill_ Dean, he knew that. One more death on his conscience…more blood on his hands. _Mom, Jess, Dad…and now, finally Dean_. _I wish that demon had finished me off the first time, instead of Mom._

The vampires had made his last night on Earth…memorable, he figured. A knock down, drag out fight in the hotel…which he'd lost. A concussion, which scrambled his brain. And an assortment of new dislikes for his already long list, among them, staple guns, needles, hot pokers, a studded leather belt, and his personal 'favorite,' a frayed extension cord.

_First one tries to strangle me in Kansas, now one electrocutes me in Ohio. What did I ever do to an extension cord?_

He mustered enough energy to pull at the chains holding his wrists down. Looked like they were secured below the table or bench…whatever this slab he was lying on was. Pulling at them did no good. Idly, his brain began wondering why the "bad guys" always held victims down in a crucifixion pose…wasn't that the symbol of the good guys? It always had been in movies, anyway. Maybe all these monsters shared an appreciation for irony.

He forced himself back to the task at hand. He couldn't free his hands. Moving his left leg slightly helped his foot though…the circulation returned to it. The warmth from the stove was enticing…_any port in a storm, they say_. He tried to move a little closer to the stove side of his so-called bed…anything to get closer to the warmth.

He wondered what Dean was doing. Probably going crazy…or maybe beating the crap out of somebody like in his dream. Sam didn't know why that was such a comforting thought. He hoped Dean would find him soon. He chided himself for his hero worship…_yeah, that's right; I think my brother's a hero, what of it?_ But even Dean wasn't invincible. There were at least six vampires in Kate's new gang. _Six-on-one odds...even Dean wouldn't play that game._ Sam hoped Dean would do the smart thing and beat a path out of town.

He also knew Dean better than that.

The door leading into the back room burst open, admitting Kate, his blonde tormentor Drew, and two other vampires, a girl and a smaller guy. Kate stopped by his head, while Drew and the others took up spots on either side of him. Sam wasn't thrilled to see Drew again. He was, however, oddly pleased to see that Drew had been injured. His nose was visibly out of alignment, and dried blood caked the bottom of his face. Sam couldn't resist the smile that crossed his face at that sight. _I hope it hurt like hell…._

Kate apparently saw his happiness, because she belted him across the face with the back of her hand.

"Something I said?" Sam asked. He honestly couldn't tell anymore if he was channeling Dean or simply too far gone to care about what he said. _Seems like every time I open my mouth, Dean spews out_. He puzzled over that image a little too long, and started giggling. Kate wasn't as amused as Sam was, turned out.

"You're brother has anger management issues, Sam," she opened.

"You're telling me. He got carded once at this diner…whew, you should have heard him…that poor girl was so---"

"Shut up!" Kate spat angrily. Sam shrugged, not knowing what else to do. She ran a finger across his bare chest, carefully digging her nails into his burns. He hissed in pain, but was too weak to do much else about it. When he didn't react further, she grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head over so that their eyes met.

"Too bad he didn't think it through first…."

She held out her hand, and Drew produced Sam's cell phone. She scrolled down the menu and clicked the send button. While it rang, she motioned to Drew and the other two, who promptly moved in and sank their teeth into his flesh. White hot pain banished all further thought from his mind, and he became aware that the guy he'd heard screaming the night before had returned. Listening to it for a while, he really felt sorry for _that_ guy. He realized that the other guy was screaming was using _his_ voice just a second or two before everything went black.

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9:00 AM

"This is a strange order…."

Dean blinked innocently at the florist, and tried to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

"Well, my biology professor has a wicked sense of what makes an 'interesting experiment.' He's sent us all over the county looking for this stuff." He flashed **The Grin**, though it faltered somewhat when he remembered that it was Sammy who had dubbed it that. He settled for pleasant-but-neutral, and fumbled through his wallet while the young woman packed up the skunk cabbage. Dean recalled the foul stench of this stuff from Colorado, and wasn't pleased about having to smell it again. _Then again, I might stock up after this…._ He wondered how long it would last in the trunk of a car.

"Heh. I hope he knows this will stink up the school," she countered, returning his smile. "You lucked out too…we don't normally have this stuff. It came in on the truck by mistake."

Maybe someone WAS listening to his prayers. He didn't do it often…maybe it made him stand out. Maybe it had worked for Layla too. He shook away thoughts of faith healers and tragic victims. _Sammy. Stay focused on Sammy_.

No doubt Sam would have found this hilarious, Dean posing as a college student. _Well, I don't have to tell him, do I?_ He realized with some dismay that his thoughts were becoming more random…a result of more than a day without sleep. _Hell…try more like two months without sleep_. He paid the woman, collected the three large bags, and headed for the car. He tossed them into the back seat, hoping the strong smells would keep him alert. Saffron, trillium and skunk's cabbage. Who knew plants could smell so bad? _Then again, it'll be worse when I burn them_.

He drove back to the hotel. _Still a few errands to run_. He stopped by the office and threw down enough cash to hold the room another week. He had no idea what condition Sam would be in if he found him, and they might need the room for awhile. _WHEN I find him!_

For the first time in two months, he voluntarily thought of his father. The only reason they weren't out of money yet was because of him. John Winchester, demon hunter and the most hard-assed father most people would ever meet, had kept a secret life insurance policy, almost $50,000, to be paid out to his boys should anything happen to him. How the man had arranged for it Dean didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. But, because of it, they had been able to rest and recover these last two months without having to worry about hustling in pool halls or keeping track of credit card aliases.

Of course, Sam had to sign for it, since legally Dean Winchester had been dead in St. Louis for almost a year.

_Hey, man, I'm sorry about this…._

_Not your fault I'm supposed to be dead, Sammy._

_We're gonna get that fixed. We're gonna work on that, okay? We've got time._

_You're just looking for an excuse to hit the library, Geek Boy._

He parked by the room and took inventory of his supplies. The three bags of plants could stay in the car for now. From the trunk, he gathered up three machetes, his, Sam's, and John's. John's the newest and by far the largest, would be his primary weapon. He also gathered the special crossbow they'd found at Caleb's in Lincoln. It was an oddity to be sure, but Sam had insisted they take it, since it might prove useful. The bow was a modern, stainless steel variation of a Chinese repeating crossbow from the 19th Century. The original could discharge ten lightly constructed arrows in 15 seconds. Caleb's discharged ten modern arrows in 10 seconds. It might prove more useful than Sam had thought. The glass container of blood he'd retrieved from the funeral home in Manning was still there, buried under their spare dress suits. It was probably especially rank now. _Good, the sicker they get the better. Hope it hurts like hell_. He hoped it still worked. He skimmed over Daniel Elkins' journal in the florist's shop while waiting, trying to glean some help from the deceased hunter's copious notes. He mentioned the blood, but nothing about an expiration date. Hopefully, that was a good sign. _Or I'm in serious trouble._

Looking around the lot to be sure he wasn't followed or seen, he brought the bag of weapons into the hotel and moved to his bed. The room was still wrecked. The "Do Not Disturb" sign they'd hung upon arrival kept the maids away. He assumed the fact that the, now shattered, windows were on the back of the building facing the woods kept that from being questioned. Locking the door behind him, he tossed the weapons onto Sam's bed, and shrugged off his coat. He was about to start cleaning up some of the debris from the battle when his phone rang, causing him to jump. It was Sam. Or rather, Sam's phone number. He glanced at the clock.

9:15 AM

_Sooner than expected_, he thought. He'd only left the diner 40 minutes before. He answered it. He was not at all surprised to hear Kate's voice.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"You should be less impulsive," she said casually. He heard the rustle of fabric, as the phone apparently left her ear. Then he heard Sam's soul-wrenching screams.

"SAMMY!"

The screaming seemed to go on forever, until Kate returned to the phone, talking as if over a loud TV show.

"Hear that?" He could. Still. Fury flared in his chest.

"Hurt him again and I'll---"

"What? Hmm? You'll do _what_, Dean?"

"Leave him alone."

"What's the magic word, handsome?" Sam was still screaming.

"_Please!_ Please…j-just leave him alone."

A pause…and the screams stopped.

Kate returned, sounding smug.

"Consider that payback for Drew's nose. Are you going to behave now?"

Dean slammed his fist down on the dresser, his breath hitched in his throat. _This is going too far_. He needed to regain control of the situation. When he thought he could speak without shaking, he put the phone back to his ear.

"Let me talk to him. Please. I need to know if he's okay." He hated himself for begging her.

Kate sounded amused, the bitch, "I'm afraid he's unavailable right now. Blood loss will do that to ya…."

"Is he---" he swallowed convulsively. He had to ask, "Have you _changed_ him?"

_Please, please, say no_. He didn't know what he'd do if she said anything else.

"Hmm…that IS an idea…" He started to reply angrily, but the words died in his mouth when she continued, "but no. Actually, I HAD thought about changing _you_ though."

"Me?"

"Yeah, might be funny. Change you, and _feed_ _him to you_ as your first meal."

_Never! I'd chew my own arm off first. _He didn't answer

"This was a warning, Dean. Behave yourself, and wait for me to call you this evening. Any more…heroics and Sam may not survive long enough to make your little reunion. Understood?"

"Yes," he choked out.

"Sorry, I didn't get that."

"I SAID _yes_," he was seeing red again. The signal went dead, and he closed his phone. He resisted the urge to hurl it at the nearest wall. It wouldn't do any good to destroy his phone. Instead, he gently placed the phone down…and grabbed the television off the dresser. It hurtled into the far wall with a satisfying crash.

_Ow. That's gonna hurt tomorrow_.

He moved to the bed and sat down slowly. He wished he could turn back the clock now. Slamming Drew into that tabletop had been satisfying, for sure, but stupid. All he'd accomplished was to cause Sam more suffering. The notes in Elkins' journal haunted him. Vampires could feed for days, bleeding victims dry. If he screwed this up, they might not just kill Sam, they'd likely torture him to death. Kate would probably set some demented record and bleed him for **weeks**.

_That's not going to happen._

He reclined back onto the pillow, trying to calm down before he set about preparing for tonight.

_I wish Dad was here._

He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

The last conscious thought to pass through his brain was: _Hang on Sammy…just a few more hours._

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**_Well, tonight's the finale. Tonight we see if this story goes AU or not. Frankly, I'm kinda hoping for a cliffhanger so I won't have to know. Sam's not the only "selfish bastard" in the Supernatural realm. Hee! When I started this chapter, all I'd seen was the preview, so I'm running with that. More or less._**

_I don't own anything._

_Reviews welcomed._

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**Chapter 5**

Dean lay helplessly against the wall of the shack. He spit blood from his mouth again. It just kept coming. He clutched his stomach, trying to stem the flow of blood there. He'd have guarded his chest too, if he could have raised his arms. _I wonder if mom felt like this._ He heard shouting. Someone was calling to him. _Little busy here_. The voice sounded familiar. Who…? Sam. He didn't sound happy. In fact, he sounded frantic. Terrified. Dean wanted to say something back, but speaking wasn't possible right now. _Great, Sammy's in trouble and I'm too busy dying. Typical_. He strained, and was finally able to open his eyes. _Dad? No…not Dad anymore_. _Boy, I should have been more careful. _

His shoulder and his back hurt. Being hurled into a car windshield will do that to you. He added that to a list of aches, pains, throbs, and agonies that were occupying his body right now, making it impossible to help Sam. Speaking of…. Sam was just moving into view. He was advancing on Not-Dad. _Sammy, run. You never could take Dad in a sparring match, and he's not pulling his punches this time. Goddammit Sam! I said get out of here! Wait…no I didn't…forgot…can't talk. Shit!_

Sammy's holding something. _Elkin's Colt. Ah, hell Sammy_. He wasn't sure his little brother could make this decision. Hell, he wasn't sure HE could, if they switched places. _Yes, I could. In a heartbeat. Nobody hurts Sammy…not even Dad…especially not Not-Dad. _He really wanted to believe that_. Fucking demon. Sammy…I told you, it's not worth dying over. Just run. Stubborn idiot, you never listen to me._

Keeping his eyes open was getting too hard, so he let them slide shut. Besides, he didn't want to watch the demon kill Sam too. _Don't want to rush Hell. I'll be there soon enough anyway. I'll probably get to see Sammy die over and over again there. _Didn't somebody say something somewhere once about making your own personal hells? Sam was the Geeky One. He'd know. _Too late to ask him_.

BANG.

BANG.

_Wow, that's pretty loud_. Thud. Screaming…but not **human**. Feet scraping. Slowly, then faster. Getting closer.

"_Dean?_"

His eyes popped open of their own accord. Sam was freaky-close. Smelled like sulfur…and blood. _Dude, personal space_. The taste of blood in his mouth wasn't so bad anymore.

"Sammy…."

"Hang on. I gotta get you out of here."

"Sam…don't think it's gonna matter this time, bro…."

"Shut up. Don't say it."

"Hey…no faith healers this time, ok?"

"Not going to happen…you're gonna be **fine**. Even if I have to bind a reaper myself."

_Don't you fucking dare! I'll kick your ass. I'm serious, Sam. Answer me. Shit! I'm not talking again. Aw, don't cry, Sammy, I didn't mean to yell. _

His eyes slid down to the floor. Not-Dad stared blankly up at him. No, not Not-Dad. Actually Dad this time. _Why does he look so unhappy? Oh yeah, cause I let this happen. I wasn't strong enough to keep my family together. The one thing I told Sam that I cared about and when push comes to shove…. _

_I'm sorry Dad…._

He was falling.

Dean landed on the floor of the hotel room dragging his pillow and most of the sheets with him. He cried out when he landed on his hand. He shook his head and tried to see where he was…didn't _look_ like the shack in Missouri…. Oh. The hotel in Ohio. _When the hell did I fall asleep?_

Crawling to his feet, he glanced at the clock.

11:00 AM.

He tried to calm his breathing, willing away the last images of the nightmare. At least it was Nightmare Number One. That one more or less followed what actually happened out near Jefferson City. More or less. This one, he'd told Sam about. He had this one about twice a week now.

He was glad he had had Nightmare Number One. Nightmare Number Two he could do without today. That was the one with the surprise ending. That one ended with one more gunshot. Dad miscounted the bullets, and Sammy used the extra one on himself. Right in the mouth. Then the three of them lay dead together; Sammy's eyes, haunted even in death, Dad's accusing, and Dean's…wet. He saw that blockbuster the other five nights of the week. He usually took out more than the bed sheets when he had that one. Sammy had stopped asking about it.

He hadn't told Sam about Nightmare Number Two. Never would. Speaking of it might give it power. At least, that's what he told himself. Sammy would probably see it differently. Sammy saw everything differently.

Grunting, he climbed back onto the bed. He left the sheets on the floor. Not like they would be out of place in the war zone that was this room. _We're gonna have to pay extra. _

_Little over an hour of sleep in twenty-four and a half will have to do_. Funny, he told himself that like he'd slept so well the day before that…or the day before that…or the week before THAT. _Screw this. Time to get to work_.

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Sam opened his eyes and saw the same wooden ceiling he'd seen earlier. That was about the only similarity to his earlier awakening, though. He wouldn't be looking around much this time. His head felt like it was filled with lead. It was all he could do to roll it over to look at his left arm.

At least he was a little more lucid, this time.

Pain lanced though his body with every heartbeat. Not the throbbing pain from earlier, but one of those time-stopping, breath-hitching pains. The upshot was that his heart was beating pretty slowly, so it wasn't like a pain, er…jackhammer. On the other hand, a slow heartbeat probably wasn't a good thing in these circumstances.

His eyes drifted over what he could see of this arms, shoulders and chest. A line of bruised, swollen, and ugly bite marks marked a rough circle on his left bicep. Another circle could be see on the right side of his chest, and another on his right shoulder. There were others. He didn't have to see them to know where they were. Vampires weren't prudes, apparently. They'd sunk their fangs into places only _Jessica_ had been. (And they WERE fangs, not teeth, he didn't care what Dad said on _that_ subject.) Vampires _were_, however, sadists. He'd be adding that to the journals when Dean…. He dropped that line of thought. If Dean was coming, he'd have been here by now. He would have heard Kate say something about it at least.

He wondered who Kate had been talking to on his phone earlier. Obviously, it was someone that she didn't mind if they heard his screaming in the background. Do vampires have friends? It seemed as though.

_Why? Beat, burn, bite, and skewer me…but do you have to use up my minutes, too? What a bitch._

Without lifting his head, he could still see light coming from that crack between the logs. _Still daytime_. He wondered if it was the same day. How long had he been out? The little stove was dark. No more fire, no more heat. That was too bad, too, since he was shivering uncontrollably now. He closed his eyes, trying to disconnect his brain from his tormented body.

He wished they'd just get it over with.

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Dean noted with some disappointment that the little public park was too secluded to be safe. About a mile behind the hotel, boxed in on three sides by thick trees, about a dozen little back roads and dead ends within easy running distance…it's a deathtrap waiting to happen. Even now, at nearly noon, the area was surprisingly dark. Didn't parents realize how dangerous places like this could be for their kids? Phantom attackers, ghosts, rawheads, stray reapers…relatives of the Benders…anything could just stroll right on in here.

Of course, that was a bonus right now. He'd seen the little park/playground during his search the night before. Today, he was using it to prepare. He parked the car next to an old, long-since abandoned camping site situated off to the side of the park. Opening all the doors and windows of the car, he pulled the three big bags from the florist out of the back and dumped them onto a concrete slab once meant to contain campfires. It didn't take long to get a nice, stinky blaze going.

Letting the stench fall over the closed in area, and permeate the car, Dean moved to the trunk. He uncovered the repeating crossbow, the three machetes, and the bottle of dead man's blood, and set them up in front of him. He'd meant to do this in the hotel room, but after his nightmarish awakening, had needed to get some air. Even if it was stinking to high heaven right about now.

He uncorked the blood container, and almost vomited. _Sweet Jesus! I thought the plants smelled bad! _Struggling to contain his stomach, which was roiling unpleasantly, he set the bottle down and opened the box that held the arrows. Careful not to damage the points, he slid them down one-by-one through the wide-mouthed opening of the blood jar, soaking the entire front half of each in the blood.

He glanced at the fire. It wouldn't be long now. Perching on the edge of the trunk, he started sharpening the three machetes. Sharpening and cleaning his weapons had always been a calming experience for Dean, but this time it only forced him to think. Unwillingly, his brain started from the beginning. Sammy, the night he turned six months old. The night whatever lives they might have had ended.

…_come one, let's say goodnight to your little brother…_

_... You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?_

…_take your brother…_

…_don't look back…_

In twenty years, Dean had never wondered about what might have been. Would he have played baseball in school? What would he have been when he grew up? He had once dreamed of being a fireman…but just figured that was because of Mom. What would Sammy be like when he got older?

He had just accepted that none of that was meant to be.

He paused, remembering something more important...well, more pressing, anyway. He reached over, plucked his Dad's switchblade out of his duffle and flipped it open. He shook his head at the size of the nearly foot-long blade. Another gift from Caleb. _Switchblade…more like a freakin' sword. Heh. Foot-long switchblades, three-foot machetes…trying to tell us something Dad?_ He chuckled at the inappropriate joke, remembering that Dad probably would have socked him for that. For an ex-Marine, Dad's sense of humor was surprisingly puritanical. _Back when Dad still had a sense of humor._

Dropping the knife blade into the blood with the arrows, he went back to sharpening. The plants were almost finished burning, if the putrid scent covering the clearing was any indication. He took his time with the blades. He would have to wait until the ashes cooled a bit anyway, so there was no rush. He'd let the fire burn itself out.

…_we've been searching for this demon our whole lives…it's all we've ever cared about…_

_Not all, Sammy._

Now, the demon was dead. Dad, Pastor Jim, Caleb…all the major figures from his childhood…well, most of them…were gone. Sam was all he had left. He'd free Sam tonight, even if he had to die trying. Sam would do no less, and probably more than was rational, for him. He'd proved that in Nebraska.

…_looks like you're gonna leave town without me…_

…_I'm not leaving you here…_

…_what can I say…it's a dangerous gig…I drew the short straw…_

…_don't talk like that, alright? We still have options…_

…_I know it's not easy…but I'm gonna die…and you can't stop it…_

…_watch me…_

The sun was shifting further to the West. _How long have I been out here?_ A quick check of his watch told him it was almost 1:00 PM. Dean glanced back at the fire. What was left of the pile of plants was smoldering.

Ashes? Check.

Machetes? Check.

He'd let the arrows soak for the rest of the afternoon. He figured they could never have _too much_ blood on them. Securing the blood container so that it wouldn't fall over in the trunk, he left them to soak, and retrieved the plastic food container from the back seat. He scooped the ashes into it. It was a huge pile, and barely fit into the bowl. It wouldn't matter, though, since he would be using some of it now.

He dusted the floorboards and trunk of the car with the ashes, then his weapon bag. Placing the lid securely on the container, he dropped it into the front seat. He placed the machetes and the crossbow in the bag, and closed the trunk. He started the car and headed back to the hotel.

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A long, scalding hot shower helped wake him up. He had the water as hot as he could stand it, hotter it seemed, given the sting his skin was sporting, so that it would remove as much of his scent as possible. He wasn't exactly sure what scent vampires picked up on anyway. If it was physical, he would have that base covered. Something else…well. Drying off, he stepped out into the room.

He'd picked up some of the mess before showering, but he still pitied the cleaning crew. Stepping over to the bed, he opened the bowl of ashes, and dusted his clothes and jacket. _Yup, definitely gonna have to hit the Laundromat after this was over_.

4:00 PM

He'd been thinking about writing Missouri Moseley a letter all afternoon. He wanted to thank her one more time, and leave messages for Sarah and Cassie…just in case. But it wasn't his style. Sam was the eloquent one. He opened his journal one more time, not Dad's, his. The one he'd started before Sam went off to school. He almost tore a blank page out. Almost. Then he closed the book and slipped it back into his bag. _No ties. Just me and Sammy until the end._

He got dressed and did a final check of his equipment. He slipped two of the machetes into hanging holsters on his belt. Dad's big one, Sam's smaller one. He'd carry the third in his hand. Strapping on his forearm holster, he removed Dad's switchblade from the dead man's blood. He shook it off, making sure the blood didn't run everywhere when he closed it, and slipped it into the holster against his right arm. The slimy blood feeling disgusted him, but it didn't leak out.

Pulling the ten arrows out of the blood, he placed them into the crossbow's magazine. Excess blood pooled a little inside, but from what he understood of how this weapon worked, it wouldn't prevent firing. He placed the loaded crossbow, its safety switched on, into the weapon bag. He tossed the container of ashes in, too. He zipped up the bag, grabbed his phone and keys, and closed the door behind him on the way out.

He laid the bag down in the passenger seat, buckled up and started the car. He paused before shifting gears, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He ran the plan through his head a few more times, like he had been doing all afternoon. It was his best, no, his only shot. If he screwed up, he'd likely not see the next sunrise. John Winchester's voice echoed in his memory.

_So, don't screw up, son. _

He closed his eyes, thanked Dad and whispered a short prayer for Sammy's safety that he'd learned from Pastor Jim seventeen years earlier…after Fort Douglas. He steered the car out of the lot and onto the road.

_I'm coming Sammy._

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_On the season finale: Sooo close! I was right on target until the last five minutes! Then BLAM! Oh well, I'm having too much fun with this as is to change it. And I guess that means the Metallicar (Impala) survived too. I had kept the car references here vague for a reason. Grin._

_I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed. _

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**Chapter 6**

Merrill's Bar was a rundown, dilapidated, scum-filled beer hall crawling with burly bikers, trouble-makers, and pool sharks. A line of Harleys guarded the front door. Music blared loudly enough from inside to blot out normal conversation even in the parking lot. Shattered glass, broken chairs and bullet holes in the walls told of many a bar brawl that got out of hand.

It was Dean's kind of place.

Unfortunately, at 5:00pm, with the sun just now descending behind the tree line, it didn't have what Dean was looking for. Stella had told him Drew and his "buddies" hung out here every evening. But, since the sun was still up, he must be too early for the vampires to show.

_They sleep during the day_. Chances were good that their sleeping patterns hadn't changed since Manning, so that meant that Sammy was more than likely safe for the time being. Dean refused to think about all the ways that assumption could be wrong. Kate and her new blonde boy toy could probably think of a lot of ways to keep Sam occupied while they slept. Dean shuddered to think of the damage they may already have done.

_If only I'd stayed in the room._

He knew that blaming himself was irrational. Sam would say the same, he was sure. If he'd been there, they probably both would have been abducted, and then no one would be helping Sam. Then again, he'd be there _with_ Sam…at least that would have been something.

_Better than listening to your baby brother screaming over the phone_.

He shook away his thoughts, and glanced around the parking lot again. The trees on the far side should provide a good observation position. He needed to know where the vampires were holed up, and tracking them seemed to be the only option. Of course, this could quite possibly be a total waste of time. Kate wanted them dead, it seemed. So, placing his hopes on Drew's nightlife was risky.

Whatever kind of meeting Kate had planned for tonight was certainly a trap. He and Sam would probably be left on the side of the road somewhere, bled dry. Of worse, one or both of them might be turned. Knowing Kate, he doubted she be kind enough to turn both of them. It'd be more painful for them, and more amusing for her, to have one brother destroy the other. She'd said that much on the phone that morning. But if he could find out something about where they were keeping Sam, he had at least a small chance of getting to him before the trap was sprung.

5:20 PM. He couldn't stay any longer. Someone might spot him. A loud rumbling in his stomach startled him. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. He hadn't thought about food since…well, since before all this. It would probably be dark enough for Drew and his ilk around six, so Dean left the bar behind and headed back to the diner where he'd met Drew that morning. _Is it really the same day?_ He felt a year older, rather than just a day.

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Sam wished he could fall asleep again. His body was still busy reminded him just how much it hurt, and his head had decided to join the rebellion. The pounding headache he'd had…whenever that was…was back in full force. He would have tried pulling at his chains again, anything to pass the time, had he possessed any energy. He'd managed one pull earlier, but the pain that had lanced up through his arms and chest dissuaded any further movement. There was nothing he could do physically, and he'd given up on trying to use his "gift," ever since it had failed him in that shack Missouri.

With little else to do, he settled for staring at the little crack in the wall, his own personal clock, and watched the sunlight gradually dim. He wondered how long it would be before it went dark altogether. He figured that's about the time he'd be…was _eaten_ the right word? It probably didn't matter…grammatically correct or not, the end result was the same. Tears welled in his eyes. He wasn't afraid of death…hadn't been, since he'd killed his father. Sometimes he even found himself wishing for it.

But he so badly wanted to see Dean…just one more time, before the end.

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It was a ten minute drive back to the diner from the bar. Dean entered. Stella wasn't there. He ordered coffee and some toast. He didn't want anything heavy…he had too much exercise coming tonight. He just needed to quell his noisy stomach. _Wouldn't that be hilarious?_ Dean Winchester, ghost and demon hunter extraordinaire, killed in action because his tummy growled at the wrong moment. Sammy would laugh at that notion.

He settled in with his plate and mug, taking a booth towards the back and away from the few other people inside. He placed his cell phone on the table and unfolded his road map. He forced himself to eat, despite his lack of appetite…something else Sammy would find hilarious. The insatiable Winchester appetite for food was notably absent today.

The toast, and the coffee, was bland. _I guess I shoulda waited on Stella…._ Or maybe it was just Dean's mood that was bland. His eyes rested on his phone, waiting for a phone call that, if he were honest with himself, might never come. Sammy could already be---

_Just eat and be patient, dammit. Stay focused. You can mother hen Sammy all you want when you find him._

If Sammy was…gone…then he'd just be left with a new hunting trip to go on. _Vampire genocide. _His **last** hunt, too…before he rejoined his family.

His eyes drifted to the map. He'd made a few notes that afternoon, after consulting the hotel clerk and a phone book. He'd located all the nearest hospitals, ranging from Lewisburg all the way to Dayton. He had no idea what Sam's condition might be, and he somehow doubted a little first-aid in the hotel room would do the trick this time…especially if they'd bled him...like they apparently _did_ this morning.

Sammy screaming like that was a sound he never wanted to hear again. He was certain he aged ten years in that minute. The fact that it was _his fault_ they were punishing Sam--- Well, he needed to make a lot of things up to Sam when he rescued him.

He glanced outside, the sun was below the trees, and the area was growing dark fast. It was time. He stood, gathered his belongings, and paid the waitress. As he walked to the door, Stella entered, apparently working the night shift. _Maybe she works overnight?_ She gave him a warm smile when she spotted him.

"Hey, honey. You look a little better tonight."

Dean smiled, she'd been kind to him that morning, and helpful… returning her greeting was the least he do.

"Hi, Stella. You look very nice tonight." _Flirting on LOW power equals charming_. He told Sammy that once when they were teenagers. He wondered if Sam still believed it.

"Leaving already? Where're you headed?" Stella asked. From the look on her face, low-power flirting still worked.

Dean flashed a genuine smile this time, and shrugged, "Hunting trip."

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Sam heard voices outside the door to his prison. He couldn't make out the female voice, but the other clearly belonged to Drew.

"…Kate said…"

"…I know what she said. But she's still staking out the hotel, and we got _hours_ before we meet the other hunter…"

_Dean?_

"…it's just a few drinks. She knows we always scope out the bar at night…it's our turf…"

Whatever else they might have said was cut off when the door opened. Drew walked in and sauntered over to the slab where Sam was chained. He dropped to his elbows beside Sam's head, eyes raking over Sam's battered body.

"Comfy, Sammy?"

_Uh-uh, only DEAN is allowed to call me that anymore._

"It's _Sam_, you bloodsucking---"

Drew ended the conversation by grabbing Sam's mouth with his hand and driving his head down into the table. Sam yelped, his head spinning, but couldn't fight back.

"You've got quite a mouth on you…even after all this," Drew motioned towards Sam's injuries, "your brother know what an smartass you are?"

Sam managed to smile between Drew's rough grip on his lower face, "Where do you think I get it?"

Drew leaned in with a scowl, "We're going to turn your brother, and the last thing you're ever going to see is his face as he bleeds you out."

The words hit their mark, and tears returned to Sam's eyes despite his attempt to stifle them. Drew smirked, satisfied, and released his grip. Sam growled at his own weakness. The vampire didn't get it…the tears weren't for himself. As Drew moved away, he decided to try and recapture his dignity and dare a retort.

"Hey, Drew?"

The vampire turned around, seeming surprised by Sam's tone.

Sam favored him with a smirk of his own, and asked a question even though he had already figured out the answer on his own, "Who broke your nose?"

Drew snarled and stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Sam returned to gazing at the deepening darkness through the crack in the wall. He prayed that Dean would just leave town before anything worse happened. Dean deserved better.

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Dean left the car tucked away in some overgrown bushes along a back road behind the bar. A few minutes of walking through the woods, and he was at the tree-line along the bar's side lot. _Perfect spot for an observation post_.

He left the crossbow in the car, preferring to carry the machetes only. The temptation to use the arrows might get too great, and he only had ten ready for tonight. He'd have to pick and choose his targets, depending on how many vampires he found. He put his cell phone on vibrate, to make sure he wasn't given away by Kate's call…whenever it came.

Ten minutes after his arrival, he spotted the beat-up Subaru pulling into the lot. The previous night's rain had washed away the blood marks on the doors. Through binoculars, he watched Drew and two females get out and head towards the building. Neither of them were Kate or Phone-Girl from the diner. _So, that makes five total, so far_. The smug little soccer-boy didn't even look around to be sure he wasn't followed. _Sloppy_.

At least, he hoped it was sloppy. He glanced around the trees, making sure he wasn't being tracked himself. The ashes had worked great in Colorado. He and Sam had infiltrated the vampire nest totally undetected. He could only hope that it was still working. Satisfied that he was alone, he went back to scanning the bar through his binoculars.

Drew and the girls re-emerged an hour later, screaming over the loud music and tussling with some big, hulking bikers. They made their drunken way over to a clear spot near the line of motorcycles and squared off for a fight. _What the hell?_ Was Drew terminally stuck in dumb-ass high school mode…or was he scoping out victims with this show? Maybe this was how he and Kate searched for new "recruits." Elkins' notes suggested…though weren't at all positive…that vampire nests were headed by a mated pair, like Luther and Kate. If one of them died, the survivor finds another mate, and starts another nest. This meant that apparently since this Drew kid was Kate's new mate, he would be scoping out new members for the nest, just as Kate would. _How sweet. Club leaders._ Or maybe he should say "fraternity elders" in this case, with a very bloody initiation.

Dean shook his head. He'd be doing the world a service getting rid of this cruel little brat. He watched Drew in action. He played the young soccer hooligan well, taunting and luring the biker in, then turning the tables and kicking his opponent's ass with superior speed and strength. He watched Drew surreptitiously lick the blood off his knuckles, and bait the next biker in while the first nursed his wounded pride. None of them seemed sober enough to realize that Drew was more than he appeared to be.

Drew spent the next two hours doing the same thing. He'd go in, taunt some drunks into a brawl, wipe the parking lot with them, and then go back in for more. Some of the people he beat up left, some, even drunker, went back into the bar for more. Drew and the girls got drunker, but held onto their coordination a lot better than the humans did.

While vampire hunting rituals might be fascinating to some, Dean found his mind wandering. Stake outs weren't all that fun without a brother to talk to, and his brain went back to its newest pastime, remembering.

"_Dean, I just wanted to thank you…." _

"_For what?"_

"_For everything…you've always had my back…even when there was no one else I could count on, I could always count on you…"_

Dean shuddered, and realized not for the first time today how close his promises to keep Sam safe were coming to being empty. He pushed his feelings aside. He needed some mental clarity if he was going to win this fight. He needed to go into what Sammy called his "Hunter Mode." He was pretty good at it…even though he had realized long ago that it frightened Sam. Sam never liked how his older brother could go from gentle, over-protective sibling to cold-blooded predator so quickly. It worried him. They often walked a fine line between being hunters and being what they hunted. Dean had made it crystal clear to Sam that it would take nothing short of a full-on, Linda Blair, pea-soup vomiting demonic possession to get Dean to hurt _him_, and except for a few out of control and quickly defused sibling squabbles, had never raised a hand to his little brother in anger.

Drew and his cronies emerged from the bar again, but this time he had a cell phone to his ear. He was making for the Subaru, but not too quickly. Dean watched until they had gotten into the car, but it didn't move. Drew was talking leisurely with whoever was on the phone. Dean moved from his spot, grateful to be moving, and sprinted for the car. Hopping in, he drove back onto the road, stopping where a thinner area of trees allowed him to see the bar and Drew's car.

The Subaru was finally moving, and Dean drove to follow. He left his headlights and all his interior lights off, following far enough behind to remain an undetected shadow on the road.

Dean's cell phone hummed to life. Keeping an eye on Drew's Subaru, he retrieved the phone from his coat pocket and checked the ID. _Sam_. He flipped it open, steeled himself, and answered. Kate's voice greeted him.

"Dean? You aren't in your hotel room."

His blood ran cold. If they knew what he was doing…. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and tried to sound nonchalant.

"Out driving, it calms my mind."

"You wouldn't be out looking for _us_ would you handsome? 'Cause I think that might be considered 'heroic,' if you know what I mean…."

"I'm not doing anything. Leave Sam alone. I'm just driving, I swear," Dean replied quickly.

Kate managed to sound annoyed and disappointed simultaneously, "Alright. Well, then I guess I've wasted three hours sitting in front of your room hoping to find you."

"What can I say, Kate? I have that affect on women. They're always stalking me."

"Hmm…you know, I really think we can have something together…there's always time to reconsider, Dean. We're not animals after all."

'_Reconsider.' Yeah right. So you can feed Sammy to me like you said? Never._

"I'm a little preoccupied with getting my brother back right now, Kate. Maybe we can put off discussing _us_ until some other time…say…when you're less _undead_."

Now she sounded hurt, but only for a moment, "Aww, you're _pissy_ when you're worried. That's too bad. Well, how about this? There's an old water tower about ten miles south of here off Highway 503. You can see it from the highway. Get off and drive to the first intersection there. It'll be deserted this time of night. Meet me, come alone, and you can have Sam back."

"Give me a minute to check a map?" When she didn't answer, he hurriedly fished a flashlight out of the weapon bag and shined it down on the open map in the passenger seat while keeping an eye on the road. "I think I can find it."

"You'd better. We'll be there at ten o'clock." She ended the call. _That gives me one hour. God, I hope I'm doing the right thing…._

Dean shadowed Drew and his girls for about ten more minutes, when they veered off the paved road and onto a dirt road. As he got closer, he saw a mid-sized, run-down log cabin sitting in a clearing amongst trees, about a half mile away. They were practically in the middle of nowhere, and, Dean noted, no where near the areas he had searched. This cabin was the ideal hideout for a vampire nest. It was relatively secluded, and far enough away from any neighbors so that their victims wouldn't be heard as they suffered. Old cars and other vehicles could just barely be seen rusting away near the edge of the trees off to the side of the cabin. There were no streetlights near the cabin, only by the road, leaving most of the yard in darkness. Only the light of a full moon overhead cast light over most of the area.

Making sure that's where Drew was headed, he drove on a bit further, before turning off the road onto an unpaved service road. He parked out amongst the bushes, like he had earlier at the bar, and popped open the trunk.

He gathered his weapon bag, machetes, and re-dusted himself with ashes. _No need to slip out from undercover now. _He locked the car, and began the trek towards the cabin. The tree-line was closer to the building here than at the bar, allowing Dean to crouch behind some abandoned farm tractors and other wreckage that had been parked at the edge of the clearing. If he judged the distance correctly, this also put him just barely within earshot of the cabin's front porch. He didn't have long to wait.

Drew emerged from the cabin, followed by two others, a male and a female, who were dragging something---no, someone! Dean tried to get a better look, but the person's face was obscured. But he'd patched, sewn and bandaged that body enough times to know it was Sam. Dean didn't like what he saw. Sam was pale, too pale, and dressed only in his underwear. There were several obvious bite marks, visible even in the moonlight, and a few gashes that looked to be caked with dry blood. Sam had been roughed up, alright…badly. It looked much worse than even Dean had feared.

Dean barely suppressed the urge to rush in and kill every last one of them and get Sam. He wanted to, but even if he won the fight against the three near Sam…and the two others which had just left the cabin…that would still leave Kate. Kate had their scent, and she could just as easily repeat this kind of attack. They'd be looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives…more so than they did already. No, he had to meet Kate, as planned. Springing her little trap, willingly, might give him the advantage of surprise.

He watched the Drew and the two vampires shove Sam into the back seat of the Subaru. It wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done, watching his little brother be tossed uncaringly into a car like that. Dean had heard a thump…like a head meeting a door handle. The lack of sound or fight from Sam worried him. Hopefully, he's just unconscious. He forced his attention away from Sammy, with effort, and tried to focus on what Drew was saying.

"…Kate said stay here...we can handle the other hunter…"

"…you sure about that?"

"…he's alone now, no backup…the father's dead already…in Missouri…"

Dean cringed, not wanting to know what they'd had to do to Sam to get him to tell them about _that_.

"…why leave so early?"

"…Kate wants to be sure Dean doesn't try and set a trap there for _us_…you just stay…we'll be back soon…might even have a new friend…"

Drew moved toward the car, while the other stood watching in front of the porch steps, their backs to Dean's hiding place. Dean took his chance, and silently retrieved the crossbow from his bag. Drew got into the car, laughing at some obscene joke at Sam's expense as he started the car. Dean took aim. Drew drove off…as he began to turn onto the road, Dean moved his finger.

_CLICK-CLICK…CLICK-CLICK…CLICK-CLICK…CLICK-CLICK._

_FWOOP-FWOOP…FWOOP-FWOOP…FWOOP-FWOOP…FWOOP-FWOOP._

_Four vamps down, two arrows left. _The last two had Kate and Drew's names on them.

All four vampires were launched a few steps forward by the impacts. Dean watched with satisfaction as all of them gaped at the two arrow points protruding from their chests. They didn't have time to turn around as the double dose of dead man's blood raced into their hearts and lungs. Several of them gasped in pain as they fell to the ground, convulsing, but no one cried out.

Moving quickly, but silently, Dean moved out from his hiding place, bag in hand. He dropped the crossbow back in and withdrew his machete. Looking around the cabin and the surrounding area, he saw no others, so he laid his bag on the porch step and circled the vampires. Two of them were catatonic upon the ground, the other two, still on their knees, glared mutely at him. For the first time in his adult life, Dean found himself with nothing witty to say. _Hmm. I must be more tired than I thought_. Shrugging, he quickly decapitated the four vampires before him. Four strokes, four sickening _SPLAT_s, and four of Sam's tormentors were destroyed. He wiped the blood from the blade off on one of their pant legs. He almost felt a twinge of guilt…almost…for the four people these things had once been. _Nah, I'm doing them a favor_.

He took a deep breath, and turned towards the cabin. He noted a propane-powered gas grill to the side by the edge of the porch. Grabbing a flashlight from the bag, he silently made his way up onto the porch and through the open door. He scanned the interior of the first room. Aside from about a ton of empty beer bottles, food trays, and even discarded condom wrappers there was no sign of…well, life. Dean spared a look back at some of the garbage. _Why would vampires be concerned with safe sex?_ He filed that question away for later. Maybe he could keep Sam entertained during his recovery with his theories on _that_. Sam always started off rolling his eyes at Dean's dirty jokes, but inevitably ended up laughing hysterically. Dean took pride in his ability to cheer up his little brother no matter what had happened to them. It would be the same now.

He moved into the next room, a common room with a fireplace. He noticed ropes dangling from a support beam, and a torn T-shirt tossed against the wall. He picked it up, recognizing it as the shirt Sam had put on after his shower. He tossed it over his shoulder, trying to ignore the blood stains on it, and kept moving. There were two doors; one just past the beam, the other beside the fireplace. _Door Number One, I guess_. He moved toward the fireplace and opened the door. There was no one inside. He stepped in…and stopped short. The first object he noticed was a large table next to a small, very old-fashioned coal stove. It didn't take long to realize that it was a dinner table. Two sets of chains rested open on either side. Splatters of blood were the only indication of recent use. Apparently, they were clean eaters. _Waste not, want not_. Dean tried to ignore the cold commentary that his brain was running. Dean the Hunter analyzed the use of every object he saw, Dean the Brother realized that the last occupant of this room was _Sam_.

He moved on, noting the chains draped over one of the open ceiling rafters. He turned his attention to a small side table that held a toolbox. Moving closer, he saw an assortment of items: pliers, knives, a long sewing needle, a hot poker---he suppressed a sudden flashback of his stay at the Benders---a rolled up extension cord, which would have looked normal had it not been for the one frayed end. His eyes mercilessly noted the obvious blood stains on the ends of the some of the sharpest objects while his brain coldly laid out the only use they might have. This was where they'd tortured Sam. He gripped the machete so hard it shook in his hands, and tried to fight back sudden tears.

_Those sons of bitches! This is where---NOT NOW. NOT HERE. This isn't the place for this._

SCRAPE.

He tensed at the sudden faint noise behind him. He didn't move his eyes from the table though, and took a half a step forward, pretending to inspect the bloody pair of pliers.

SCRAPE.

Dean tightened his grip on the machete even further, judging the distance to the approaching sound using only his ears.

SCRAPE-SCRAPE.

_Close enough_. He spun to his right, extending his machete-armed hand with a growl of barely contained rage. The blade sliced through the female vampire's neck with a sickening sound, shearing it clear of her body with the force of the blow.

Dean stood still a moment, trying to regain control of his quivering body and making sure she was the only one. When he thought he could relax his arm, he glanced down at the head, noting the frozen look of shock. It was Phone-Girl from the diner. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he scanned the room one last time. He decided then and there that this place needed to be destroyed, for Sam's sake. _For my own. _Noticing Sam's shorts lying in the corner, he gathered them up and moved stealthily back into the common room. He then investigated the last room, which apparently, Phone-Girl had occupied. It was filled with seven hanging hammocks.

_Heh. I guess I miscounted_, Dean thought with a smirk.

He made a sweep of the outside perimeter, then another of the cabin's interior. Satisfied that he was alone, he took the time to drag the four lifeless bodies off the front yard and into the main room. Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, he retrieved the four heads too. He covered the bodies in lighter fluid, and spread the rest of it liberally through the main and common rooms. He took a moment to go out and remove the large propane cylinder from the grill. He lugged it back into the…he figured 'torture chamber' was the only description…and opened the gas valve. He closed the door as he went back out.

Before he could do anything else, his phone vibrated again. He willed away a surge of fear…there was no way Drew had seen any of this, he'd timed it right. He answered it. Kate's voice greeted him again.

"We're here, Dean. Want to get this over with?"

He kept his voice flat, "Sure, if you don't mind starting early."

"As long as you don't have anything better to do…besides, I'm tired of hearing Sam whimper," she answered snidely.

Dean smiled to himself, "I'm just killin' time, sweetheart. I'll be there in a few."

He snapped his phone off and pocketed it. He could already smell the gas fumes bleeding out from under the closed door. Stuffing Sam's clothes in his bag, he lit a match, and tossed it from the front door onto the pile of vampire bodies. They went up with a whoosh. _Just like the movies…._

He stepped out and closed the door as the fire took hold in the main room. He made it to the tree-line and was heading to the car, when the fire reached the back room. The propane tank exploded with a massive BOOM. As the massive fireball consumed Sam's nightmarish prison, Dean thought of Kate and Drew, and smiled.

_Your turn, bitch._

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry it took so long on the previous chapter. I wanted to get to the big showdown there, but as I wrote CH. 6, it just kept getting longer…finally I gave in and split the fight in two._

_I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed. _

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**Chapter 7**

Dean paused by the car to reorient himself. He placed his Dad's large machete in the pocket of the driver's side door, keeping one of the smaller ones attached to his belt. He tossed the weapon bag into the back seat, and laid the almost spent crossbow on the passenger seat. Hopping in, he headed towards the spot Kate had picked for the meeting. He hoped there weren't any more vampires with her besides Drew.

_That might get awkward_.

It didn't take him long to find the water tower. It was a dark, squat object on four spindly legs. It reminded Dean of the Martian ships in that radio show Sam had made him listen to one Halloween while Dad was away. Dean never told Sam, but the show was a little on the boring side…the _tape_ was boring…but he had enjoyed listening to it with Sammy. _Sometimes it's the company you keep_.But they didn't talk about that stuff.

As he turned off the highway, he quickly found the intersection Kate had described. The only cars nearby was Drew's Subaru and a sedan that he had to assume was Kate's. They were parked along the edge of the road in the oncoming lane, headlights burning. Dean stopped two car lengths away and opened the door. He stepped out and briefly scanned the area. There were trees to his right, walling in that side of the road. On his left, a large, open field. There were a few houses in the distance. _Maybe three or four miles away…too far to be of any help_. At least they wouldn't be seen.

He stepped away from the car, careful to leave the door standing open. He took two steps forward and stopped. He saw Kate silhouetted by the headlights. She stepped a little closer. He could see her eyes glowing eerily in the darkness. He opened the confrontation calmly.

"I came alone."

She stepped forward so that he could see her completely. She was smiling like a shark that had just found a meal.

"Drop the weapon," she stated simply, motioning to the crossbow he had brought from the car.

Dean glanced down at it, then back to her. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to shoot her down. But Drew and Sam were no where in sight. He couldn't take the risk that Drew might kill Sam in retaliation. He shrugged at her, keeping his face impassive. He reached over and gently placed the crossbow on the hood of the car, making sure he could still lunge for it if necessary. He looked back at her expectantly.

Kate, for her part, was smarter than she seemed. She smiled, genuinely, and shook her head.

"_All_ of them."

Dean smirked. _Smart girl alright_. He reached into his jacket and produced the machete from his belt holster. Making a show of slowly pulling it out, he laid it next to the crossbow on the car's hood, and then took a half-step to the left, away from the car. He held his hands open out to the sides in mock subordination. That seemed to satisfy Kate, and she called out to Drew.

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Sam really wished his head would stop spinning. He was afraid if it didn't, he would be throwing up over the backseat of…whoever's car this was. He had been going in and out of consciousness for a while now, and couldn't even remember _getting in_ this car. He was freezing. _I wish somebody would turn the heat on_. He curled up as much as he could and tried to sink further into the seat. It wasn't helping his shivering much.

He was startled when the door opened, and something grabbed his legs. He was pulled out of the car. He marveled at how he couldn't bring himself to cry out, even though he felt like he should be yelling for help. All thought fled his mind, however, when he was roughly turned upright, and a wave of vertigo overtook him as he descended into blackness.

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Dean eyed the soccer thug coldly as he emerged from the car and retrieved something from the back seat. It was Sam. Drew drug the young man forward by the back of his neck. Even with only the headlights and a full moon overhead for illumination, Dean could see that Sam was 1) still breathing, and 2) barely conscious. Dean called out to him.

"Sammy? You alright, man?" _Of course he isn't, stupid…what kind of question is that?_

Sam didn't reply, though his head bobbed in the direction of the voice that addressed him. _That's something_. Kate glanced and Sam and shrugged. She turned back to Dean, shark's grin back in place.

"He had a rough night."

Dean scowled at her, "No thanks to you."

"You brought this on him, hunter. **You**. Luther just wanted us to live in peace."

Dean couldn't stifle the laugh that bubbled up through him, "Yeah…peace…just you and his little harem nabbing innocent passers-by off the street and _eating them_, right? What about Daniel Elkins? He wasn't hunting you…you attacked _him_. Nice 'peaceful' life you were leading there. Besides, _we_ only wanted the gun."

It was Kate's turn to laugh, "Ah, yes. The Colt. How'd that turn out for ya, Dean?" she glanced at Sam, "I hear daddy didn't get the _good_ end of that deal."

_That's none of you business, Elvira_. "It worked itself out," he replied nonchalantly.

"Not from what Sammy told us," she sing-songed, "he tells a much more…tragic…story. Well…he did after enough voltage passed through him."

Dean started to lunge forward, intent on choking her to death right there, but was brought up short when Drew's free hand grabbed the front of Sam's neck.

Kate waggled a finger at Dean, "Uh-uh-uh…he'll tear his throat out. Back up."

Dean fought for his self-control, and stepped back. One step. He was still within reach of the weapons on the car's hood. He tried to block out the rage, but it was getting harder and harder. He raised his hands to show her he wasn't going to attack. She relaxed.

"Let him go. You can do whatever you want to me," Dean told her. He meant it.

Kate raised her eyebrows, seeming surprised at his submissiveness. She nodded to Drew, who tossed Sam against the front of Dean's car. Sam hit the hood hard, and slid bonelessly to the ground without as much as a groan. That worried Dean, but at least they'd let Sam go. He turned his focus back to Kate, who was slowly sauntering past the front of the car and came to rest standing in front of him. _She's awfully sure of herself_.

She grinned and whispered conspiratorially, "I see two ways to go, handsome. Drew can break you in half, right here, then we drain both of you and leave you for dead…that's Drew's preference, by the way…or I can turn you, and we go back to my place for dinner," she crooked her thumb in Sam's direction at the word "dinner."

It was Dean's turn to smile.

"That'll be some trick, sweetheart, seeing as I just torched your little cabin and all your drinking buddies with it."

He watched with an emotion that approached glee as the realization of what he'd done struck her. Her face displayed every emotion as she reeled from the news. She recovered in time, though, to bring up her hand with lightning speed and hoist him off his feet by his jaw. _I'm really getting tired of this…._

Kate leaned in and growled, "We are going to tear the limbs from your miserable body, one by one!"

Dean flicked his right wrist, and the switchblade dropped effortlessly into his waiting hand.

_Ka-Chink!_

He turned the open blade toward her and slammed it up into her chest as hard as he could. It slid in beneath her sternum and sank into her chest cavity with a sickening slurping sound. He twisted it for good measure, the pain causing her to release him. She stumbled back, the knife hanging from her chest…blood soaking her shirt as she bled. She stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded. She looked back up at Dean as the poisonous dean man's blood seeped into her.

"Ah, damn…" she muttered, already feeling the effects, then stumbled back and collapsed by the front tire of the car. Dean went for the machete on the hood, but he was a second too slow. Drew flew into him with breathtaking force, tackling him and driving him against the car with a yelp. The crossbow flew off the hood and landed somewhere near the front wheel. Dean managed to grab onto the machete, but Drew landed two vicious punches to his kidneys, causing his hand to fly open. The weapon tumbled down the hood of the car, dropping near where Sammy lay unconscious. Dean wriggled around to face Drew; desperately blocking punches from the creature that he knew was stronger even than it already looked. He brought his legs up and kicked out, sending Drew crashing to the ground with a curse. Dean launched himself off the car and into battle.

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Sam was startled back into consciousness by a clattering sound somewhere to his right. He struggled to open his eyes. When he could clear them enough to see, he took note of his surroundings. He was lying on the asphalt of a road. His head was resting against something cold…metal…it felt like a car bumper. He couldn't see much in the moonlight, but he looked down, trying to find the source of the noise that roused him. He found it. Lying on the cold, hard road beside him was a machete. He'd seen all this before.

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Dean landed two solid punches to Drew's face, the first re-breaking the nose and causing blood to gush…the second knocking two of his fangs out. He followed it with a quick upper cut that sent Drew sprawling to the ground. Drew looked dazed, so Dean took a split second to be rational. He was wound just about tight enough right now to beat the little fucker to death using only his bare hands, but he knew that he needed to get to Sam and check on him quickly. So, he made a dash for the open car door and his Dad's super-machete. He would end this fight quick. That was the plan anyway. The plan fled his mind when his left foot was kicked out from under him.

The world turned sideways and before he could process what had happened, he was lying on his side with Drew standing above him. Before he could respond, Drew landed a powerful kick into Dean's midsection, and then followed it up with two more into Dean's unprotected groin. Dean cried out in pain.

_Jesus! 'Soccer player' is right!_

Drew reared back for another devastating kick, but Dean struck first. Without leaving the ground, he lashed out with his leg, driving his boot into Drew stomach, just below the diaphragm. Drew's breath was forced out with a huff, and Dean continued his offensive. He rolled around and sent both his feet crashing into Drew's ankles. Drew was flung down toward the back of the car, dazed and winded, his head resting just below the rear bumper.

Dean rose to his knees, clutching at his abused privates. He let out an audible growl of fury. _Fuck the blade…. _

He lunged at Drew, grabbing the boy-thing-whatever by his shirt and jerking upwards, driving Drew's forehead into the sharp bottom edge of the car. Once, twice, three times, then he pulled him out and flung him bodily away. Drew rolled over once as he skidded across the pavement. Dean launched himself up and landed straddling Drew's waste. He started pummeling Drew with his fists, picturing Sam's battered body and imagining every horrible thing that Drew had done to his little brother with every blow.

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Sam struggled to stay conscious and weakly fingered the blade of the machete with his hand. _Where have I seen this before?_

_Wait…wait…a vision?_ Yeah, that was it. _The blade, the cold, the moonlight_. He gasped in horror as the vision came back to him. He realized suddenly that he was having trouble breathing. He ignored the dizziness that threatened to send him back into oblivion, and turned his head to the left. He knew what he would see.

Sure enough, over the front of the car, he watched as Kate slowly and painfully rose up off the ground. It creeped him out…the silence of the movement. She was holding a weapon. A crossbow looked like. _No…no, no, no, NO!_

He didn't need to see the rest to know what was about to happen. He turned his gaze back to the machete. It was so close to him, yet, in his weakened state, it might as well have been a mile away. He willed his traitorous fingers to operate, sliding them around the hilt of the bladed weapon. Once he had a firm grasp on it, he turned to look at Kate. His mind was filled with one thought only, which repeated over and over.

_DEAN!_

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Drew managed one punch to Dean's chin, but with the adrenaline coursing through him, Dean barely felt it. He grabbed the vampire's arm when it came up for a second try, and twisted it viciously. He heard the bone snap. Drew cried out in pain. Dean slammed the broken arm down on the pavement, eliciting another cry from Drew. He watched the boy cradle his abused arm when Dean released it. He leaned down and addressed the vampire with a low whisper.

"I'll show you more mercy than you did Sammy."

Dean rose to his feet, intent on getting his Dad's machete and ending this at last. Drew made a groaning noise as he tried to rise but failed. Dean grabbed the machete, turned and marched back to Drew. Despite himself, he paused when he raised the blade above his head to strike. For a moment, looking at the blonde kid in front of him, it was easy to forget that he wasn't human…he looked _normal_. Dean shook himself out of it, reminding himself that this thing was no longer the young, college-bound athlete Stella told him about. Steeling himself, he finished it. One stroke and the vampire known as Drew died. Then Drew Cunningham rested in peace. He turned to finish off Kate. _One down, one to go._

He turned towards the car and froze. Kate stood wobbly, aiming the discarded crossbow directly at his chest. His eyes flicked to the car door, but he knew he wouldn't make it down behind it before she fired. A terrible feeling of failure began to wash over him. _I'm sorry, Sammy…I screwed up_. What happened next he wouldn't have guessed in a million years.

As he faced Kate, preparing for the impact of the arrows, a cry of pure anguish erupted from in front of his car. He watched as Sam, almost in slow motion, rose off the ground and swung the machete at Kate. The blade struck home against the back of her neck before she had time to react, and her head left her body with a _squish_. Her headless body fell to the ground at the same time the machete slipped from Sam's failing grip. Dean was astonished.

"Sammy?" he asked quietly, not knowing what to say next but pretty sure it was along the lines of _I came all this way and YOU saved ME? _

Sam, for his part, looked as surprised as Dean felt. His eyes met Dean's, and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips, "Dean?"

That was as far as the conversation went, though, as Sam's eyes rolled back into his head and he folded over, landing roughly by the front fender. The adrenaline rush that allowed him to save his brother's life fleeing as quickly as it came.

Dean raced forward, and turned his brother onto his back, feeling for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He cupped his hand over Sam's cheek, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Sammy? You with me, bro?"

Sam's eyes fluttered open, and he slurred, "Y'okay?"

Dean laughed at the insanity of it. Sam had spent the last 24 hours getting the tar beat out of him by a group of vampires, yet the first thing he does is ask if _Dean_ was alright.

"I'm fine, Sammy…now. Hang in there, okay? You're in bad shape. I'm gonna get you out of here."

…_Hang on. I gotta get you out of here..._

…_you're gonna be fine…even if I have to bind a reaper myself…_

Sam's words after he killed the demon floated back to him in his memory…this scene was eerily familiar to him. And Dean realized that if worse came to worse, he would do the same thing that Sam had sworn. He propped Sam up against the side of the car, and moved fast. He needed to help Sam, but he'd left too much evidence. He rolled both Kate's and Drew's bodies…and heads…into a ditch along the roadside. He gathered his crossbow and the machete Sam had dropped, and flung them into his bag. He retrieved a lighter and the spare can of lighter fluid from the backseat and set the two vampires' lifeless bodies on fire in the ditch. _Better safe than sorry_.

Dean raced back to the front of the car, picked Sam up and carried him around to the passenger side. He had to kick the weapon bag into the floorboard, but he managed to get Sam snugly into the seat. He went around and dug out a camping blanket they kept in the trunk for emergencies, and wrapped it around his brother's shivering form. The boy was shivering, yet drenched in sweat.

"Stay with me, kiddo. You're gonna be fine."

If Sam heard, he didn't answer. Dean got back in and sped off for the nearest hospital. He'd memorized the route on the way there. He glanced down at Sam, whose head rested mere inches from Dean's thigh, and who was still shaking. _He must be in shock…I don't have a lot of time…._

"Hey, Sammy. You need to stay awake, okay? Talk to me. Come on man. I need you to talk to me," he said, straining to keep his voice calm and the desperation from leaking through. He dropped one hand from the wheel and stroked Sam's damp hair. He was elated when Sam opened his eyes again.

"Dean?" he asked weakly.

"Yeah, I'm here, little brother…I'm here…."

Sam was gasping for breath, as though simply staying awake was exhausting him.

"Dude…vampires…suck."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

_You know, this story almost ended differently. The last paragraph I wrote in chapter 7 originally had Drew escaping. I was toying with the idea of a sequel. But, I figured Drew HAD to die because of what he did to Sammy. Didn't want the boys looking over their shoulders the rest of their lives. Besides, what could Drew do to them that would be worse than this?_

_I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed. _

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**Chapter 8**

It was 2:00 AM when Dean brought Sam Winchester…well, Sam Conner…into the emergency room. His condition warranted immediate attention, though the orderlies had to pry him out of Dean's arms before they could take him inside. Dean stayed to supply Sam---er…_Conner's_ insurance information to the nurse at the desk.

Sam had to get two blood transfusions before they felt comfortable sending him to a room for observation. The doctors and the sheriff deputy that questioned Dean bought Dean's story completely, much to Dean's relief. He decided to tell eight-tenths of the truth, or as he once described it to Sam, "The Truth: Sunny Side Up." He included everything, the gang assault at the hotel, the kidnapping, the torture, the meeting…but left out a few keys pieces of the tale. For instance, he thought it would be better NOT to mention the part about it being a gang of _vampires_. He also left out the part where he took care of business at the cabin and on the dark road. Instead, he told of how he'd been forced to use their late father's insurance money as ransom to get Sam released…and even then, they'd roughed up Dean as well. They'd also told Dean not to call the police or else Sam would be killed, so he paid the money as demanded. The story even took care of the hotel room's destruction…nice and neat.

The doctor who had treated Sam unintentionally helped sell the story when she'd described how, as far as she could tell, the kidnappers had let a pack of dogs maul the younger boy, leaving a collection of serious bite wounds and explaining the loss of blood. She couldn't know how much that helped. She'd seemed appalled by the brutality. Dean almost wished that he was innocent enough to share her revulsion…but he'd seen too much during his life already.

The deputy, for his part, seemed overwhelmed by a string of similar crimes recently…all apparently the work of Kate and her nest. The vampires had created a long history of abductions and mutilations in this area over the last few months. It helped sell Dean's version of events to the deputy, who was also busy monitoring the discovery of some horrific gang murder/beheadings near an old water tower. The deputy thanked Dean, gave his sympathies for Sam, and promised they'd contact him if they ever recovered his ransom money. He didn't appear too confident that it would be found. Dean gave him a post office box number in Lawrence, Kansas where they could be reached.

Dean's private meeting with the doctor, whose name he couldn't remember despite her beauty, didn't go as well. She gave Dean _alot_ of bad news. First and foremost, Sam would have to stay in the hospital for several days, at least, to make sure the shock and concussion were treated properly. New York and Sarah would have to wait a while longer. The second bit of news was worse.

"Mr. Conner, you should know that victims of crimes like this often suffer from depression and sometimes unusual behavior later. Especially, in Sam's case, after the recent loss of your father, John…."

Dean chuckled internally at that. "John Conner." His dad would have liked his choice of aliases tonight. Once, shortly before their Dad went missing and Dean went to find Sam at Stanford, he'd forced John to sit and watch _Terminator_ in a hotel on late night TV. His Dad had surprised him by loving the movie. He and Dean had spent a short time simply as father and son. It had been the last time. Shaking himself out of the memory, he asked what he should do to help Sam. She suggested counseling.

_THAT would be a disaster_, he thought, _surely a one way ticket to the loony bin, for both of us, would be the only result of a session like that_.

He told the doctor that Sam hated, absolutely HATED shrinks, and asked if he could do it himself. She kindly, if grudgingly, accepted that and told him to try and talk to Sam about it, but not to be surprised if counseling ended up being necessary anyway.

_No way, Doc, I can take care of Sammy myself. I always have, I always will._

He thanked her and excused himself. A brief but successful debate with the night-duty nurse, a gruff, middle-aged woman who reminded him of Stella, only meaner, resulted in him being granted permission to crash in the empty second bed in Sam's room so long as no one else needed it. Dean once again used Low-Power Flirting…well, Medium-Power, to secure that little concession.

_Welcome to the NFL, Nurse Ratched…._

The room was quiet, save for the beeping of a heart monitor, which the doctor had insisted on for the first couple of days. Dean watched Sam slumber. He had been pumped with enough sedatives and pain-killers to stop a herd of buffalo in their tracks. It was almost 4:30 in the morning now. The halls were deserted, and the nurses were stopping in only once an hour. Dean silently locked the door and pulled the privacy curtain closed. He didn't want anyone to see what he had to do…he had to spare Sam the humiliation.

He removed the flask of Holy Water from his coat. He wasn't sure if vampire bites were like other demonic injuries, but he couldn't take the chance of a later complication. So, pulling Sam's hospital gown up, he gently treated every one of Sam's bite wounds with the consecrated water. He decided not to tell Sam. The bastards had bit him more than once in a few VERY private areas, and Sam would be mortified to know that Dean had been forced to inspect the wounds. It would be bad enough for Sam having to know that _doctors_ had seen them. His unfortunate task complete, he covered his little brother again and tucked him in under the sheets. It was hard _not_ seeing a 5-year old _Sammy_ instead of a 23-year old _Sam_.

He felt himself growing emotional…the exhaustion was catching up to him. Unlocking the door, he climbed into the bed next to Sam's, and put himself to sleep by watching Sam's chest slowly rise and fall. He hoped he'd be awake before Sam came to. He didn't want Sam to wake up alone after what he'd been through.

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_It's inside me, I can feel it. Shoot me! You shoot me! You shoot me in the heart!_

_Don't you do it, Sam…don't you do it…_

He pulled the trigger.

_I'm sorry, Dad._

_Dean? Hang on. I gotta get you out of here…_

_Hey…no faith healers this time, ok?_

_Dean? Dean can you hear me? _

The beeping of the heart monitor was like thunder in his ears.

_Dean they say you lost a lot of blood…please…can you hear me…_

A week in the hospital…it was somehow even worse than the time in Nebraska.

Blood all over him…on him, on his hands, on Dean….their father's blood. Mom's. Jessica's. Dean's. All his fault. The demon said he was "gifted." Apparently, he was just gifted enough to doom everyone he ever loved.

He opened his eyes to see a white ceiling. _The hospital? Still in Missouri?_ He looked around, scanning the room until he saw---

_Dean! _

He pushed himself up, he couldn't see clearly. His head was spinning. Dean had blood on his shirt. His vision swam.

_No, no, no, this already happened. It's not fair! I don't want to see this again!_ He had never left the hospital. Dean lay unconscious in the bed across from him… his skin pale, dark circles ringing his eyes, blood on his clothes...recovering from the demon's attack. The beep of the heart monitor drove him mad.

_Dean? _

He couldn't talk.

_Gotta get to Dean…_

He pushed himself off the bed and tried to reach his brother. He felt something tugging at his arm and jerked away, trying to free it. Pain shot up his arm. His legs were shaking so hard he couldn't stand. The white floor tiles flew up at him with amazing speed.

He cried out as he hit.

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Dean drifted somewhere between being asleep and the waking world. He was so tired. Why couldn't he sleep? He kept hearing something…someone…far away. What were they saying? No. They weren't saying anything, it was a noise. Whimpering. Someone was upset. He wondered why…but it was a hospital, right? People were only in hospitals because they or someone they knew was suffering, right? He heard movement. He heard somebody cry out in pain. Who was--- _Sam!_

His eyes snapped open to find Sam's bed empty. He flung himself off the bed but saw no one nearby, until he looked down. Sam was dragging himself across the floor! His arm was bleeding. Dean panicked.

"Sam!"

He rushed over and grabbed onto Sam's shoulders, turning him over to face him. Sam's eyes were wild and filled with some traumatic vision only Sam was seeing. Dean squeezed his shoulders, trying to get his attention.

"Sammy? Sammy!"

Sam grabbed Dean's shirt with surprising strength, given his condition. His eyes met Dean's but clearly didn't see them. Sam was frantic, bordering on a panic attack.

"Gotta get to Dean! He's hurt! Please help me get to my brother! Please, please, please…."

Dean pressed his hands to the sides of Sam's head, "SAM! It's me! It's Dean. I'm right here, bro. Snap out of it."

His voice finally seemed to penetrate the haze of fear, and Sam blinked for the first time since he had woken up. He didn't release Dean's shirt, but stopped flailing as much. His eyes went from panicked to confused, then switched to pleading. The grip on Dean's shirt tightened.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't want to. He was going to…I _had_ to kill him. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…."

Dean's brain finally managed to catch up. He'd heard this before…in the hospital in Missouri, when he'd woken up after nearly hemorrhaging to death at the hands of the demon. _Mom and Dad's killer_. Only, the last time he'd heard Sam utter these words, they were quiet, resigned…mournful, and without the psychotically apologetic mantra. They were being repeated, but this time the words sounded not only sad, but _broken_. Sam seemed to be trapped in a nightmarish version of an event that had already occurred.

"Sammy…wake up. Please, Sammy. Can you hear me? Sam!"

Now Sam's eyes took on that look dogs give people when they are being spoken to in baby talk. His pupils seemed to react this time, and Dean got the feeling that Sam was just now really seeing him there.

"Huh? Dean? You're… Dean?" Sam rasped.

"You're in the hospital, Sammy. In Ohio. You're gonna be okay…do you understand?"

Sam nodded slowly, trying to absorb what he was being told, even though it conflicted with what he'd apparently just been seeing.

"Why are we on the floor?"

He sounded so young to Dean's ears.

Dean laughed, "You tell me, Sam. Where were you a minute ago?"

Sam's face crumpled, his eyes started tearing up, "Um…I thought…I was…in your room…when you were hurt…after Dad---"

Dean let go of Sam's head and pulled him into a sitting position. He noticed that Sam's grip on his shirt hadn't eased. He sat down beside Sam and put his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"I'm okay, Sam. You're the one in the hospital…remember? The vampires?"

Sam stared at him for a moment, clearly struggling to remember. He finally nodded slowly.

"Yeah…yeah, I remember. What a bunch of bastards," Sam muttered. A smile crept onto his face, but it didn't meet his eyes.

Dean ignored the weak and unconvincing attempt at bravado and eyed Sam's injured arm, and frowned, "Hey, you need to get that fixed…will you let me call the nurse?"

Sam looked at his arm in fascination, as though seeing the damage he'd done to himself for the first time…which he probably was. He released Dean, though he seemed reluctant at best. Dean took his opening and reached up to the arm of Sam's bed, jabbing the call button three times. He returned to Sam's side.

"Want me to help you up?"

Sam swayed a bit, frowning, "Uh…no…dizzy. Think I'll just sit for a minute."

Dean's intended reply was cut off when one of the nurses came in looking concerned.

"Mr. Conner, is something---" she quickly noted their position on the floor and the blood dripping down Sam's arm; she called over her shoulder for a doctor. Dean filled her in on the situation.

"He had a nightmare, pulled the IV out when he came off the bed. He says he's dizzy, now."

The nurse nodded, she checked Sam's pupils with a flashlight, asked him a few questions and when she was satisfied that Sam was in no immediate danger, she asked if they should call an orderly to help him back into bed. Dean and Sam both refused, and, with Dean's help, she gently coaxed Sam into letting them lift him back to the bed. He kept his eyes on Dean during most of the ordeal. The doctor arrived moments later.

It took several minutes for the nurse and the doctor to repair and replace the IV…fortunately Sam hadn't done any real damage in his nightmare-induced adventure. The boys were alone again about a half hour later. Dean stared at Sam awkwardly, not knowing what to say or where to begin. Sam, on the other hand, was content to keep his eyes on his own fidgeting hands. Communication wasn't always the Winchester strong suit. But, from his conversation with the ER doctor earlier, Dean knew that getting Sam to talk was necessary…if, for no other reason, to ensure that a trip to the psych ward wasn't forced upon them_. Besides, I doubt he'll be going back to sleep any time soon after that…._ He started out slow.

"Need anything, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes darted in his direction, but wouldn't make eye contact, "Uh…yeah...thirsty. Any coffee around this place?"

Dean chuckled, "Heh. No coffee allowed…water though…they got tons of water."

Sam grimaced, but that and a dejected shrug were his only responses. Dean brought him the beverage. Sam took it, tasted, and made a small face at him.

"Why are you walking like that?"

Dean looked up in confusion, "Hmm?"

"You're walking funny," Sam replied.

"Oh…yeah. Our 'friend' Drew was a soccer player before Kate turned him," Dean said, then grimaced, "and he found a new set of balls to kick around last night."

Sam giggled at that, earning himself a glare. "Laugh it up, College Boy. Next time you get to go ten rounds with the World Cup and _I'll_ sleep on the bumper."

Sam's smiled faded a bit and he took another sip of water. He frowned at the taste and looked like he was going to speak, but instead simply stared at his sheets unhappily.

_The boy is THIS close to bitching about something…he can't be too bad off_, Dean thought, with an odd sense of relief. He chided himself to stop stalling and get down to business. He pulled a chair over and sat down next to his brother's bed.

"Sam," he began hesitantly, "We…we need to talk. There are a few things I need to say to you."

Sam looked directly at him for the first time since being hauled off the floor. His eyes were focused both on Dean and some faraway place at the same time. The kid looked to be near tears.

"Yeah, I need to say something, too."

There was a long pause after that. Dean stared at Sam, and Sam stared back. Dean was gathering courage and Sam looked to be doing the same. The long pause turned awkward, and then uncomfortable.

When they both finally spoke it was at precisely the same time.

"I'm sorry." "I'm sorry."

"What?" "What?"

"_Stop that!_" "_Stop that!_"

That did them in. They both burst out laughing. After a few minutes, Sam regained enough composure to hold up a hand in apology.

"What…what were you saying?"

Dean swallowed the rest of the much needed comic relief, and tried to keep his face straight, determined not to blow this off with the usual bantering. _This is serious, dammit! _He rubbed his face in an attempt to wipe away the smile. When he could talk without his voice cracking, he tried again.

"I, uh, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. About yelling at you the other night. About leaving you alone in the room when you got attacked. I should have been there."

Sam shook his head slowly, "Dude…you couldn't have known…I mean…it wouldn't have mattered anyway. There were _six_ of them."

Dean started to argue, but already knew that Sam would vehemently deny that any of this was Dean's fault. Besides, this was just Dean's opener…he wouldn't let the topic of discussion be diverted onto him…this was about Sam. He noted, though, another surge of pride when he remembered the amount of fight there had been in his younger sibling that night.

"That didn't stop you from throwing down with them…I saw the wreckage…."

Sam blanched, "Oh, God…Dean…the room! It was trashed! How are we---"

"Taken care of," Dean answered matter-of-factly.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but couldn't find a reply fast enough before Dean leapt at the opening.

"And…I'm sorry about the last few months."

Sam looked taken aback, "Huh?"

Dean shook his head, and moved his gaze to Sam's chin…he couldn't meet his kid brother's eyes for some reason.

"I…I closed up. It was just…too painful, you know? It was easier to let you take the brunt of everything…the hospital, the funeral, the insurance money…I just couldn't bear to think…to _accept_ that Dad was _gone_. I'm sorry, Sammy. I was so unfair to you. I just…I didn't know what to do."

He looked up, just in time to see Sam wipe away tears from his face. The kid looked like he'd just been sucker punched. Dean cut him off though, when he opened his mouth to respond.

"And I lied to you."

Sam looked up at him, his face unreadable; Dean plunged ahead, "The last time we were in a hospital, I told you that…when we talked about Dad and the shooting…I told you that I would do the same thing, make the same choice that you did. I lied. I mean…I'd do anything for you, ANYTHING, you know that, but…I don't think I'd be brave enough to make the choice that the demon forced on you. I'm so sorry, Samm---"

"STOP IT! JUST STOP!" Sam blurted out, now weeping openly. Dean jumped at the unexpected outburst.

"Huh, what are you---"

"Nothing's your fault, Dean! I did it! I shot Dad, ME! It's my fault the demon came after our family…it was after _me_, remember? I'm the reason Mom died…and Jess…and the reason you almost---"

Dean was stunned, at first, at the litany spewing out of Sam, but disbelief turned to irritation when he realized that Sam was still blaming himself for everything despite the number of times Dean had assured him otherwise. He couldn't stop the flare of anger that gripped him, he was too tired to stop it. He almost unconsciously switched tactics…no more Mr. Nice Brother. Sam needed an ass-kicking.

"Listen to me_, Samuel_," he switched to the parental scolding tone he'd perfected when Sam was growing up, "none of this is, was, or ever _will be_ your fault. You were six months old! You had no idea what kind of…_whatever_ you'd been born with. You haven't done anything wrong. IT. ISN'T. YOUR. FAULT. Do you understand me?"

Sam didn't seem to be buying it, but the dangerous tone of Dean's voice had stopped the ranting at least.

"But, Dean…"

"Sam, _enough_! I've watched you beat yourself up over this for more than a year! Enough already! We got screwed! Okay? Our family, Mom, Dad, us, we got screwed! It happens. Bad things happen for no reason. The fact that the demon wanted you doesn't make him coming to us YOUR fault. Or mine. Or Mom's. It was HIS fault that we…that we had to grow up the way we did. I keep telling you that. Why don't you trust me, Sam?"

Sam looked stricken, and Dean started to wonder if he hadn't gone too far. _You're supposed to talk to him, not yell at him, dumbass…._

Dean's expression softened minutely, and then he did something that he hadn't done since Sam was FIVE. Dean leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. The way he'd done when little Sammy had a bad dream and couldn't go back to sleep...the way he had the night after the witch almost killed him in Fort Douglas. Little Sammy and Sam had a lot in common. _Some things haven't changed that much_. Though, nowadays Sam often chose to use caffeine instead of his big brother to avoid returning to a nightmare infested slumber.

"I'm sorry I raised my voice, Sammy," he said softly, "You okay?"

Sam nodded mutely, stunned by Dean's sudden transformation from older brother to parent and back.

"I do trust you, Dean," Sam whispered, he was clearly trying to hold himself together.

"Good. I don't want to have to explain that to you again, Sammy," Dean smirked, "and if you ever tell anyone what just happened, I'll---"

Sam starting shaking his hands in denial…he apparently was too shocked to acknowledge or poke fun at Dean's emotional display. _Maybe he doesn't know what to make of it…_ But his kid brother was nothing if not single-minded, as his next words proved.

"And it's _Sam_," he added tiredly, but there was no heat in the tone.

"You'll always be Sammy to me, little brother."

Dean paused. Sam looked like crap, and this little confrontation seemed to have sapped whatever nervous energy had launched the kid out of bed earlier. Dean felt a little guilty for dropping all this on him so soon. Hell, he'd been a hostage just six hours earlier_. Jesus, we still haven't talked about that...he's already exhausted_. Dean decided to kill that line of thought. Sam needed to heal physically before they dove into healing the psychological damage.

"You look like shit, kiddo. I mean…that's not _unusual_," he grinned when Sam scowled at him, "but maybe you should try and sleep some more. You were a guest at Casa de Vampire just a few hours ago…."

He watched Sam cast a nervous glance at the other bed, clearly remembering his nightmare, so Dean squeezed his hand supportively.

"I'll stay right here…I'm not going anywhere."

Sam looked back at him and tried to smile gamely. He failed miserably, but Dean didn't point that out. Instead, he tucked Sam into the sheets again.

Sam let his head drop back onto the pillow, but kept his eyes on Dean. Dean watched him, and quietly asked, "What did you want to say, by the way?"

"Just thanks."

Dean blinked, "For what?"

"Getting me out of there."

Dean smirked, "Hey, I just hate driving alone."

_Don't ever do that again._

_Do what?_

_Go missing like that._

_You were worried about me._

"You're concern is touching, Dean, maybe you…" Sam stifled a yawn, "…should work for Hallmark."

_All I'm sayin' is you vanish like that again I'm not lookin' for you._

_Sure you are._

_I'm not._

Dean watched Sam start drifting off to sleep, and spoke quietly, "I'll always come looking, Sammy." Sam was too far out to respond verbally, but he squeezed Dean's hand.

Dean dreaded what he knew had to come next. He'd bridged the chasm that had existed between them since their Dad's death…though it was far from sealed…but he had no idea how to address the whole vampire-assault-torture business. Right now, Sam was just lucky to be alive and recovering. How long until Sam's mind caught up and the nightmares about Dad turned into something worse?

He worried that their little pre-dawn cathartic talk about Dad, while necessary and LONG overdue, might free his brother's mind to focus on his abduction. Dean had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't have to wait long for that subject to surface. Kate and Drew had left him one hell of a mess to clean up…and he didn't have a clue how to start.

Watching Sam breathe softly and the heart monitor slowly beeping away, Dean's eyes drifted shut quickly; his head perched on the edge of Sam's bed, his hand wrapped tightly around Sam's. Soon they were breathing in synch.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry for the wait, I was on vacation out of the country. I'm back and flat broke, so I should be free to write for awhile…you know, since I'm BROKE. Heh._

_This whole ending has been worrying me. It seemed easy to write the action parts, since the vampires were driving the story, but once they were gone I started to feel writer's block setting in. Your support of the last chapter was so encouraging, though, and it really helped me come up with this chapter._

_I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed. _

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**Chapter 9**

The next two days in the hospital passed without incident. Dean mother-henned Sam until Sam was ready to pop. Sam complained about the food. Dean smuggled fast food in from outside. Sam asked for coffee, Dean brought him water. _Doctor's orders after all._

Sam was still tired, and had virtually no energy during the day even after they took him off the sedatives. The doctor explained that it was normal after the blood loss and the medications they had put him on that first night. He lightly dozed most of the time, his conversations with Dean taking bizarre turns as his brain switched off for a while. Dean thought it was funny as hell.

The wall-mounted television, ironically, and much to Dean's chagrin, was stuck on Lifetime. Many a conversation during the last 48 hours had been spent discussing the possibility that the TV was possessed by some touchy-feely ghost with an affliction for _The Golden Girls_ or _The Nanny_. Dean claimed he hated it, but didn't turn the TV off except when Sam was asleep. Sam seemed happy that _Frasier_ reruns were on that channel, but Dean didn't get a lot of the jokes.

Dean was absolutely furious over _Unsolved Mysteries_, though. Clearly, there were supernatural explanations for many of those cases. He couldn't understand why no one else was seeing the clues. Sam told him that he could turn it off, but Dean ignored the suggestion. The debates over the potential TV haunting and Dean's running, and biting, commentary on _Nanny_ reruns kept Sam in stitches. Which was the point, of course. This was turning into the most entertaining time Sam had ever spent in a hospital. Dean was making sure of it.

Dean had talked to Sam more in those two days than he had in the last two months, which pleased him no end. The tension that had been there since the…incident…in Missouri was fading away. Sam still wasn't over it…might never be over it. _How do you get over executing your own father? _But, Dean had made it clear that Sam didn't need to feel guilty over anything, especially not over saving his brother's life, and if Dean was the only person in the world who saw it that way, then so be it. Sam seemed to accept that, finally. Sam slept without any nightmares, and Dean considered himself lucky.

They still hadn't talked about the vampires or Sam's time in captivity.

On the third morning, Dean's luck ran out.

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Someone was moving closer. He couldn't see who, but they were looming large in the darkness. The figure coalesced…into his father, it seemed, but he couldn't see the face.

_I'm disappointed in you, Sammy…you should have found a way to kill it without breaking your brother's heart…_

_No…no, it was the only way…Dean understands…he knows I didn't have a choice…_

_…what does 'Dean know?' _the figured asked bitterly, accusatorily.

_He knows more than you…more than either of us…he knows when to stop…he knew we should have quit hunting that thing while we were ahead…he knows how to let things go…he knows more than YOU ever did…just leave me alone…_

_Who is he?_

_What?_

_Who are you traveling with…who's the other hunter?_

This was strange…Dad knew us, why would he…wait…this wasn't Dad…he had blonde hair…Dad's hair was darker…

The pliers dug into Sam's flesh. Sam cried out.

_I said, who is he?_

_Screw you!_

_Fine…_

The figure moved, and the frayed end of an extension cord dug into Sam's abdomen. Pain exploded through him, taking his breath away.

_Tell me his name…that's all I want…_

_Go to hell!_

Pain blasted through his chest. Then his midsection again. Sam screamed. He couldn't get away. His arms were chained above his head.

_Please…please…stop…_

The wires touched his groin. The pain was unbearable.

_I won't tell you his name…_

_You already have._

_Huh?_

_You told me his name a few minutes ago…_

_You're lying…_

_His name's Dean. See? You told me. What's Dean to you? Friend? Partner?_

Wait…when did he tell Drew the name? He couldn't remember. Any further attempt to think was cut off when another explosion of pain filled his body.

_Tell me and you'll get another break…_

Sam couldn't stand it. Drew wouldn't stop. _Maybe if… _He choked out the answer through gritted teeth.

_He's…my…brother!_

But Drew didn't stop this time. Sam screamed. _I'm sorry Dean…._

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Sam muttering in his sleep was the first sign that something was wrong. Dean had been awake for several minutes, but hadn't bothered to open his eyes yet. This chair was uncomfortable. _Freakin' hospitals…the furniture's as bad as the food_. So, he just sat there, resting his eyes if nothing else.

His internal complaints stopped when he heard it. It was soft, at first, little more than a grunt, but then the sound grew louder. A whimper. Then a near-silent cry. Dean opened his eyes. He found the clock on the wall. It was almost 5:00 AM. The sun hadn't peeked over the horizon yet.

Dean looked over. Sam was propped up against the pillow, his arms crossed behind his head…just the way he'd fallen asleep. _Probably should have moved his arms down._ He noticed Sam's eyes were moving back and forth beneath his eyelids. He was dreaming. _Uh-oh…. _Sam was talking softly. The heart monitor was beeping a little faster than before.

"No…please…Dean understands…leave me alone…."

It sounded like Sam was actually fighting back against the nightmares this time. Good for him. _Kick its ass, Sammy!_ Dean's hopes were dashed quickly though.

"I'm not telling you…you're lying…you don't know his name…I'd never tell you…no…no, please…"

The heart monitor's incessant beeping picked up speed.

Dean leaned over; about to whisper something encouraging to Sam in hopes of ending the dream before it woke him up. He didn't get very far before it happened. Dean almost jumped out of his skin when Sam's eyes shot open and a blood-curdling scream escaped his lips. Sam flinched away from him and started thrashing, still dreaming, he tugged at his arms but they were trapped behind his head by his own weight. He kept screaming.

There was something odd about Sam's movements. Dean remembered the chains slung over the beam in the cabin, and suddenly Sam's movements made perfect sense. He moved fast, grabbing Sam's arms as gently as he could and freeing them from the pillow, letting them go as they lashed out at some unseen attacker. Sam went on the offensive before Dean could react, and Sam's fist connected with his jaw. He had no time to dwell on the rapidly forming bruise, though, because it seemed Sam's defensive thrashing was about to bring him off the bed, head first. He stepped inside the length of Sam's flailing arms and took hold of his shoulders.

"Sam!"

The sound of his voice snapped Sam out of it. His eyes focused on Dean.

"Dean?"

"It was just a bad dream, Sammy."

His assurance fell on deaf ears…Sam started sobbing.

"Dean…he wouldn't stop…I tried…I tried _so hard_…I _had_ to tell him about you…he made me tell…."

Dean sat on the bed and pulled Sam up into a hug, careful not to press against any of the bandages dotting his brother's torso. Sam, for his part, wrapped his arms around Dean as if he was drowning and Dean was a life preserver. The sound of the door opening caused him to look over his shoulder. The nurse poked her head through.

"Is there something wrong in here?" she asked urgently.

Dean shook his head, "Just a nightmare, he's fine."

The nurse looked as though she was going to speak again, but the look on Dean's face seemed to convince her otherwise. She nodded and closed the door as she left. Dean turned back to Sam, who had gotten quieter, but was still crying into Dean's shirt. Dean rubbed Sam's back.

"It's okay, Sammy."

Sam didn't, or maybe couldn't answer, but Dean noticed that the heart monitor was slowing down. He stayed there, holding his traumatized brother, and began to fear that professional help might be needed after all.

_No, I've never needed help taking care of Sam. _

"Sorry," Sam whispered, "Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean pulled Sam back so that they could look at each other.

"It could have happened to anyone. You. Me. _Anyone_," he bit his lip, it was now or never, "I saw the room where they kept you."

Sam cocked his head, "You did? When?"

Dean grinned at him, "Right before I torched the place."

He lowered Sam back onto the pillow and perched himself up on the bed, within arm's reach of Sam in case he was needed again.

Sam stared at him for a moment, letting the implication of what he'd heard sink in, then he surprised Dean by chuckling, "I won't miss it," Sam frowned, though, after a moment, "So…you saw the…you…um…."

Dean nodded slowly, "Yeah, I saw the stuff that they…that they used. You want to talk about it?"

Sam looked at him for a moment, and then silently shook his head no.

Dean frowned, but he knew where Sam was coming from. When he spoke, he tried to sound understanding.

"Look, Sammy, I know it's hard. I wouldn't want to talk about it either. But, the doctors here, they say that you need to get it out in the open. They wanted to send you to a shrink," Sam looked up sharply at that, "but I told them no."

Sam looked relieved.

"But, that means that you need to talk to _me_, bro," Dean said.

When Sam spoke, Dean could already tell he was going to argue, "Dean---"

"Sammy…." His voice left little room for debate, but Sam looked tight-lipped, Dean switched gears, "remember what you did after Dad gave you that .45? Remember, you were afraid of the dark, and Dad gave you a .45 and told you to shoot anything that came out of the closet?"

Sam actually smiled at that…it had been the first clue little Sammy received that their Dad wasn't a "normal" father. Later on, it would become the first step towards Sam resenting the man.

"Yeah…I came to you," he replied.

Dean smiled. Sam had come to him after that, still afraid, but even at the tender age of nine, knowing that Dad would be of no further help, "And what did I do?"

Sam furrowed his brow, trying to remember, "You came and slept in my room that next night, and made me open the closet."

Dean had done exactly that. He slept with Sam in his room, in whichever shabby house they were living in at the time. Dean made Sam turn off the lights. They both climbed into the bed. Sam had been terrified.

_Dad gave you the gun, Sammy, now I'm going to teach you what to do with it…_Dean had whispered.

_But, Dean…_

_No, 'buts,' Sammy. You gotta face your fear…you can beat it, I know you can…_

_What do I do?_

_Take the gun, get out of bed, and open the closet door._

_What if something…you know…?_

_Shoot first, ask questions later. You're Sam Winchester, nothing's gonna hurt you while I'm around, got it?_

Sam had got up like Dean had told him. Right before he'd opened the door, though, he'd realized that Dean had left the bed too and was standing right behind him.

_I got your back, little brother…always._

Dean had spent a week in Sam's room, and they repeated the exercise every night. Sam hadn't feared the dark since.

"Dean…this is different," Sam protested quietly, "this…they…."

"I know they hurt you, Sam," Dean replied calmly, "hell, I heard some of it."

Sam looked confused, so he elaborated, "Over the phone, the day after they grabbed you…Kate made me listen while they bled you."

Sam looked embarrassed, "You heard that?"

Dean nodded; Sam turned red and looked away, like he was ashamed that he'd been heard screaming like that. Dean gently turned Sam's head back toward him, "I'm sorry, Sam…that was my fault. It was payback for me breaking Drew's nose."

"Not your fault…I just wish they hadn't made you listen."

"Don't be embarrassed, Sam…there's no reason to be, okay? Hey…they told me you held out for six hours while they…while they 'questioned' you. I know what you went through…for the most part. Pieced a lot of it together, really…from Drew, the doctor, and what I saw in that room. You held out longer than a lot of people would have."

Sam just shrugged, obviously unconvinced. Dean shook his head and sighed, "Hey, don't beat yourself up because you think me or somebody else could have done any better. They would have gotten our names just the same if it had been me there instead of you."

Sam looked at him for a moment, looking like he wanted to argue, but kept silent. Dean frowned at that.

"Sam…I know it'll be hard to talk about this…but if you don't talk to me, they'll _make you_ see a shrink. I don't want that to happen to you. Please, talk to me about what happened."

It was a bluff. Under no circumstances would some know-nothing head doctor be psychoanalyzing his little brother. He had made that perfectly clear to Sam's doctor when she'd try to convince him again the day before.

_Sam's not crazy, and he's not going to be beaten by this…he's stronger than that. But it's a damn good bluff._

Sam looked defeated, and spoke quietly, "Where should I start?"

Dean smirked, "The beginning always works…we can stop whenever you want, I promise…but we are going to get through the whole story, okay?"

Sam nodded, but he kept his eyes on the bed, "Um…when you left the hotel room, there was a knock. I thought you'd come back for the key, so I opened the door. It was Kate. Then four of them came in through the windows. Drew came through the door…I went for your knife, and I cut one of them, but it wasn't enough to do any damage…I tried to get out, but they were all over me…last thing I remember was Drew kicking me in the face…."

Dean hated the look on Sam's face. It was full of recrimination, humiliation and dread. _He should never have to feel like that_. He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, partly for his own reassurance, partly for Sam's. Sam continued.

"…I woke up in that cabin…my shirt was gone. Kate told me that they didn't know who we were, and she told Drew to get it out of me…um…" Sam looked like he wanted to crawl away and die rather than continue, and Dean knew what was coming, "they, uh…they took me in the other room and chained me up. They started asking me my name, and stuff about me…I didn't say anything at first…that earned me a few punches…but nothing we haven't been through before, you know?" he tried to smile.

Dean smiled at him, _Tell me about it…. _

"Um…I tried just thinking about what _you_ would do…you know…passing the time until they got bored and gave up…only it didn't work. Whenever I said something smart-assed or gave a stupid answer they just got meaner," he started fidgeting with a large patch of bandages on his left thigh, "Drew picked up a staple gun…one of those things you see in hardware stores…he emptied a whole clip of staples into my leg before he asked another question…it just stung at first…when he kept going it started to hurt…."

Dean glanced at the bandages. The doctor had told him about that…there had been so many that they'd been forced to cut the skin to remove some of them. The bruised tissue had swollen up around them. Dean wished there was some way to vent the anger that swelled inside him without interrupting Sam. He ground his teeth together for lack of a better method. Sam was on a roll now…he put his hand over Dean's at his shoulder, looking for support. Dean clasped his hand into Sam's.

"That…that didn't get them what they wanted…he got this…I don't know, a big needle…a sewing needle I guess…and he…."

Dean closed his eyes as Sam related all the interesting places where the needle went. And the way the studded leather belt felt when they used it as a whip. And the way the pliers…well, Sam would be hurting Down There for a while, until the bruises faded and the cuts healed. Sam broke down twice while relating the nightmarish tale of torture. Dean could only whisper platitudes, hating himself for not knowing how to take these memories away.

"…the last two were the worst, though…they had this poker…they kept it hot…well, you probably know what they used that for…"

Dean did indeed. He still remembered that night at the Benders whenever he saw the burn scar on his shoulder. He noted with sadness about half a dozen similar scars, under bandages, dotting Sam's chest and sides. He absently stroked the hair out of Sam's eyes, sharing a moment of empathy with his brother the way few others could on that topic. Sam took a long, shaking breath. Dean squeezed Sam's hand, trying to remind him that he was there, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"…that was enough to make me say my name. I thought that's all they wanted, really…I thought if I told them they might stop…but then he wanted to know who you were. I didn't want to…I tried to keep you out of it…but…Drew just started over. The belt, a few more times with the needles…the poker…but then…."

Dean saw Sam breaking down again…he pulled him up off the pillow and embraced him, all memory of his No-Hugging rule wiped away by the tale of how a fucking vampire had broken his little brother. Sam sobbed for a few minutes, but was clearly struggling to finish the story.

"We can take a break, if you want," he said into Sam's shoulder.

Sam sniffled, but shook his head and pulled away a little, "Um…no…I want to finish it."

"Okay."

Sam cleared his throat, and laced his hands together to quell the shaking. He seemed determined to regain some of his dignity.

"He, uh…they had this electrical wire…extension cord…one end was cut off and they…well…um…."

Dean finished it for him, "They used it on you." He had seen the wounds earlier, and the doctor's report confirmed it. He was all too familiar with electrocution and electrical burns, having gotten a dose himself back in Nebraska. Of course, that was one big shock that had almost killed him…this was different. A lot of little shocks had been applied to Sam…just enough to make him talk. _Just enough to break his will_. That had to be worse. They'd both seen Sylvester Stallone movies where stuff like that happened. He smiled wryly at Sam.

"Not like in the movies, huh?"

Sam chuckled softly, "No…definitely not. I don't like playing Rambo," his grin faded after a moment, "but…anyway…Drew liked using that wire. He got off on it, I guess. It was strange…I kept hearing somebody screaming, and I thought 'God won't they give that guy a break,' it wasn't until the next day…when they were biting me…I heard it again, and I realized that the guy was _me_. It hurt so much, Dean…." he almost lost it again, but stifled the tears, "…I don't even remember telling him your name. He _told me_ that I told him, but I can't remember ever saying it. I _wouldn't_ have…I tried not to, I _swear_…I thought he was just fucking with me, you know? Mind games. But, I guess I really told him. I'm sorry…."

Dean tried desperately to keep his own emotions at bay. He wanted Sam to stop and pretend this never happened. It was killing him to hear this. But he had to be strong for his brother. _Sam needs this…he needs to get it out in the open_. That's what he kept repeating to himself anyway. He managed to keep his voice steady and detached when he answered. He had to play therapist.

"You probably blacked out…maybe that's why you don't remember."

Sam nodded slowly, "I guess, yeah."

Dean narrowed his eyes, "That what you were dreaming about before?"

"Yeah…man, it was like I was still there," Sam glanced down at the faint bruise already visible on Dean's jaw, "did I do that? I _thought_ I hit something when I woke up."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, I had a run-in with the Sammyville Slugger this morning," he cut Sam off before he could speak, "and don't apologize again. It was my own fault for not being awake when I was trying to wrestle with you."

Sam's unspoken apology died on his tongue, but his eyes communicated loud and clear. _I'm sorry_. It bothered Dean that Sam kept apologizing. The kid didn't seem to get it. It was the _vampires_ that did this; Sam didn't bring it down on them. He filed that conversation away for another time, and focused on getting Sam back to his story.

"Go on," he prompted.

Sam frowned, "Well, anyway…I woke up the next morning chained to that table…near the stove. I was fading in and out; I don't remember much else until they came in and bled me…oh, God…Dean…the doctor? She saw the places where…?"

He stopped when Dean nodded. He got crawl-away-and-die look again. Dean didn't mention that _he_ had seen the bite wounds too.

"I was afraid of that…" Sam muttered sadly.

"She thought they were wild dog bites. Apparently, your human kidnappers tossed you into a dog pen and you were mauled. That's what she reported to the local sheriff's deputy anyway."

Sam nodded, "Sounds better than the truth. Hey…wait, you think we should get the Holy Water? I mean, vampires aren't, well, Demon-demons, but maybe---"

_Dammit, Sam, why do you think so much? _Dean thought bitterly,_ I was trying to spare you this…._

"Don't worry about it."

"But, Dean…."

"Sam," he sighed, he didn't have a choice, "I already cleaned the wounds with the Holy Water. They're okay."

Sam's expression would have been funny under other circumstances. He had stopped short when Dean had spoken, his face blank, then comprehending, then horrified. Then he turned a very deep shade of red and rolled away from Dean, face in his hands.

"Oh, God…."

Dean fought to keep the grin off his face; he didn't want Sam to think he was belittling him.

"Hey, hey…relax Prude. I used to give you baths, remember? You got nothing I haven't seen before."

He just couldn't help himself sometimes, though, "You might have to explain some of those marks to Sarah one of these days, though…."

Sam glanced back at him, then turned away again, "Oh, God…."

Dean was torn between his teasing reflex and the knowledge that Sam wasn't exactly up to speed right now, and was probably taking all this much harder than usual. In the end, he let him off the hook.

"Sammy? Hey," he rolled Sam back over, "don't worry about it, man. I did it while you were asleep. I had to be sure you weren't gonna turn on me later, you know? Safety first, pride later."

Sam considered that for a moment, and then seemed to relax, "I guess you're right."

"You guess? You forget _already_? We've been over this. The older brother is _always_ right."

Sam's laugh at the familiar routine was cut short by a sudden yawn. Dean glanced at the clock. It was almost 6:00 AM. The sun was peeking over the trees outside the window.

"Why don't you try to go back to sleep, Sam? It's still pretty early. We can finish story time later on."

Sam looked uneasy, "Do I have to?"

Dean understood why Sam was reluctant to go back to sleep, given the way he had awoken before, but he knew that the more rest Sam got, the sooner Sam could leave, and that was enough to make Dean insist upon it. He tucked Sam's sheets back in and gently pushed him down onto the pillow.

"I'm right, here, kiddo. Not going anywhere. Just dream about me kicking Drew's undead ass…that should help," he smiled.

Sam smirked, "Yeah, thanks Dean…I've always wanted to dream about _you_."

"Perv."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean watched Sam watch him. After a few minutes, he realized that Sam wasn't drifting off as hoped. _Well, I can't force him to sleep…besides, his nightmares usually hang around for a while_. He remembered something from days earlier.

"Hey, Sam? When I was in that cabin, I saw condom wrappers all over the place…why do you think vampires need protection?"

Sam froze and just stared at him, his mouth hanging open comically. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts.

"What?"

_After that long, I expected more from Sam...real eloquent response College Boy._

"Yeah, they were everywhere. You think…I mean…you think vampires can get pregnant?"

"Jesus, I hope not!"

"Well…maybe they can pass on diseases---"

"Okay. I'm---I'm going back to sleep."

"No, seriously, this could be important Intel on them…."

"Later, Dean, later. We'll pick this up…you know…**never**."

Still looking at Dean like he was crazy, Sam rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, ending the bizarre discussion. Dean grinned.

_Yup. I win! I knew he'd prefer sleep over that._

"Goodnight, Sammy."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. We're almost there…._

_I think they are rounding up when they said "22 years earlier."_

_For anyone who still may not have heard, Supernatural got renewed for a second season on the new CW network. Woo-hoo!_

_I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed. _

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**Chapter 10**

Dean hadn't slept worth a damn since he'd brought Sam into the hospital. It wasn't that he hadn't tried, but after that first night, when Sammy freaked over seeing him in the other bed, he'd started sleeping in the visitor's chair. It sucked. After the third day, Sam's recurring nightmares of his captivity woke him at least once a night…and that was a _good_ night. Not that he blamed Sam at all. He knew the kid couldn't help it.

One upshot to the lack of sleep was that his own nightmares that had been plaguing him since his Dad's death had gone away. He wasn't sure why, probably had something to do with only being able to sleep for short times between Sam's dreams, but he wasn't complaining. _Now, if only I could recreate that trick for Sammy. He could use a break too. _

The following Monday night brought him the best news he had received since…well…in a long while. The doctor that had been treating Sam had told him he could take his brother home the next morning. She had done all she could for him medically, now all Sam needed was to heal psychologically. She reiterated her suggestion about counseling, and Dean once again declined. Sam was still having nightmares, but they were slowly becoming less traumatic. Slowly. Dean felt sure that they'd be alright. After all, Sam's recurring dreams of Jessica had faded with time.

As he filled out Sam's discharge papers that Tuesday, he realized that he'd lost track of the date. Tracking the time hadn't been a concern at Missouri's, and certainly not since Sam had been taken and then hospitalized. He asked the nurse at the desk for the date, and her answered brought him up short.

_Good timing…._

"Excuse me," he addressed the nurse, "can you hold these papers for a second? I need to run out to the car."

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Sam opened his eyes slowly, trying to see if Dean had moved away from the door yet. He'd been pretending to sleep ever since his most recent nightmare earlier that morning. Dean wouldn't let him stay awake after only three hours of sleep, so he'd just closed his eyes and waited for Dean to fall back asleep himself.

Dean had been summoned out of the room by the doctor a few minutes earlier. _Probably more test results_. His doctor had been poking and prodding him every few hours for days. Blood tests, disease checks, pupil reaction to monitor his concussion…it never ended. He never wanted to come back to a hospital…that was certain.

Sam rolled over onto his side, wincing slightly as one of his burn scars rubbed against its bandage the wrong way. The scars left by the hot poker and the electrical wires were taking the longest to heal, though the numerous bruises, bites and cuts between his legs were probably the most uncomfortable. And he absolutely hated THOSE tests. Dean hadn't mocked him for any of that yet and that, oddly enough, was troubling to Sam. _He must be more worried than he's letting on…he should be making fun of me a lot more than this…._ When Dean didn't crack jokes at his expense, something was wrong.

His own overactive imagination was inventing all kinds of reasons why Dean wasn't being himself. All of them bad. Maybe the vampires _were_ carrying diseases, like rabid dogs or something. That might explain Dean's concerned behavior. _No, he would have told me…wouldn't he?_

_Shut up, Sammy, you're being a girl, _he heard Dean's voice in his head. He shook his head slightly and curled up around his pillow. He'd been hearing Dean's voice ever since he'd woken up in that cabin. He assumed it was some weird defense mechanism at first, then that it was a symptom of his concussion…now he didn't know what to think. _I'll have to look it up…maybe I'm just going nuts._

He hadn't said anything to Dean, but he felt like crap. His myriad injuries made it hurt to move. Some of them made it hurt to pee. _I can't even take a piss without wincing and making Dean worry… _He felt like he was piling all his troubles onto Dean, and Dean certainly had his own lately. Worse, he felt like a burden. Dean would deny it, he was sure, but surely he was driving his older brother crazy, what with the nightmares, the constant pains, and---just everything. The _last_ thing he wanted to be was a burden.

A single tear leaked out of his left eye, running down his nose and onto the pillow that he was crushing between his arms. He hated it. He hated feeling so weak. It was like Drew had taken his self-control along with his dignity and will. He furiously wiped his face, praying that Dean didn't walk in right now.

_Drew_. He saw that fucker every time he slept. He'd never forget that sneer or the mocking voice...or what he'd done. The fact that Drew and Kate were both dead and burned to cinders did little to stop his memory from joining forces with his fertile imagination. Not all his dreams were simply memories…some of them put Dean in his place. Some of them put him in Drew's place, torturing _Dean_. He knew that was irrational…but his brain refused to accept reason while he slept.

_They could easily have turned you into one of them…you could very easily have done that to Dean…STOP goddammit! It didn't happen that way!_

_It could have, _Dean's voice mocked.

Another tear slipped out. Maybe he really was going crazy.

He almost jumped out of the bed when he heard his name being called from across the room. It sounded like Drew.

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Dean walked back to Sam's room feeling almost giddy. Sam would be ecstatic when he found out he was being released. And the timing couldn't have been better. With all that had happened he was sure Sam had forgotten the date just as he had. He hadn't said anything to Sam, but he was worried. He thought that once Sam had talked out what had happened to him at Drew's hand, he might start recovering faster. At least, he had hoped that would happen. Sam was getting better physically, but the emotional scars were taking their sweet time going away.

He had noticed Sam crying every once in a while, when he wasn't looking. Sam thought he was hiding it, but Dean noticed. He thought he should ask about it, but after pushing Sam so hard to talk about the torture, he felt that he should let this ride a little. He didn't know what would happen if he pushed too hard. Besides, the vampires had given Sam's spirit and will a sound beating over those two days, and Dean was afraid to press…he might hurt Sam just as badly as Drew had…like picking at a scab.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as he reached Sam's door and plastered his best grin onto his face before going in. He faltered a little when he saw Sam curled up against one of his pillows, catching him just as a shaky hand wiped at his eyes. _Not good. I'm gonna have to talk to him sooner or later._ He reasserted his grin.

"Sammy! I got something for---"

He winced when Sam jumped in terror, almost folding himself in half around the pillow. _Nice going, dumbass, you scared the crap out of him…._

He crossed the distance to Sam's side in two long strides and placed his hands on his brother's shoulders.

"Hey, hey…it's just me. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that…."

Sam relaxed a little and looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. He tried to hide a sniffle by scratching at his nose and looked around like he was expecting someone else. Dean stared at him with concern.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded at him after another minute of scanning the room. Dean recognized the look on his face. It was the same look somebody might have when on the lookout for a potential attacker. Sam glanced back at Dean before pressing his palms against his still wet eyes. _Hiding it again_.

"Yeah…I'm f-fine," Sam stammered, "I just thought I heard---I'm fine."

_Why do I think you're lying to me, little brother?_

Dean frowned, but didn't say what he was thinking. He held up the large envelope he was carrying and waved it at Sam.

"Got something for you, Sammy. I think you'll like it."

Sam stared at the envelope warily before reaching out and taking it. It said "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM" in big red letters across the front. A hint of a smile tugged at Sam's lips as he read it. He looked back at Dean perplexed.

"Wait…it's…_is_ it?"

Dean smiled, "Believe it or not, dude. You're twenty-three," he frowned, "and wipe that grin off your face 'cause you're making _me_ feel _old_."

The barb achieved its goal as Sam's smile grew wider. He watched as the younger Winchester opened the envelope and pulled out the hospital papers. He glanced over them and his eyes widened.

"I'm getting outta here? **Yes**!" Sam looked back at him with bright eyes. It was the happiest he'd looked in a very long time. Dean mentally congratulated himself. _Mission accomplished_.

"The doc gave you some painkillers, and some antibiotic stuff for the burns and cuts…but, dude," he made a downward gesture with his hands, "you're putting those on yourself. I don't want to be in therapy when _my_ birthday comes around."

Sam actually laughed at that. Dean frowned, "Hey, come on, open the other one."

Sam cocked his head, and felt the envelope, only then noticing the other object inside. He turned the paper over the dumped a long, flat box out into his waiting hand. Opening it, he eyed a jeweled charm necklace, similar to the one Dean always wore, but flanked by colored, diamond-like jewels. He looked back at Dean with a confused look.

"A protective charm?"

Dean nodded, "Missouri gave it to me before we left. Honestly, I just remembered this morning."

Sam looked apprehensive when he spoke, "Dean…um…I'm touched," he pointed to the charm, "but…I think this is meant for _a girl_."

Dean shook his head and punched Sam's arm lightly, "It's not for _you_, numb nuts; it's for _Sarah_. You should bring her a present, especially now, since we're so late getting up there. Besides," he pointed to the twine bracelet around Sam's wrist, "you already have one."

_Not that it seems to do any good._

Comprehension dawned on Sam's face. He looked back at Dean.

"Thanks, man."

"All in a day's work for The World's Best Big Brother," he held his hands out as if displaying himself. He was rewarded by another small laugh from Sam, who was drawing his finger along the jeweled sides of the charm appraisingly. He started to get up.

"I'm going to get you some clothes so we can ditch this place."

A hand on his arm stopped him, he looked back to see Sam looking at him. He appeared to be near tears.

"Seriously, Dean…thank you. For _everything_."

Dean shrugged, "Nothing to it, Sammy. I'll be back in a few minutes, alright?"

"Alright."

Dean moved to the door, he stopped as he swung it open and glanced back at Sam, who was staring at the gift with a faint grin. Dean bit his lip as he thought about how he'd found Sam a few minutes before. The kid's moods worried him. Even when he was smiling and laughing, Dean detected something else just beneath the surface. He shook his head and stepped out the door. He didn't know what to do…and there was little he hated more than not knowing how to help Sam.

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They came back later that afternoon to the same hotel room where their little adventure started. It had been cleaned, and the windows boarded up. A note rested on the desk from the hotel manager apologizing for the assault that occurred on his property and offering the room to them free of charge for as long as they wanted. Apparently, Dean's cover story to the sheriff had successfully made the rounds.

Sam lay dozing on the bed he'd last been in a week earlier, the painkillers making him sleepy. Dean had insisted that he take them after they'd checked over his bandages. Sam had made the mistake of complaining about the sting of his wounds and it had sent Dean back into mother-hen mode full force. There'd been no way to argue with him. He hated when Dean got that way. It made him feel five years old.

Dean had crashed on the other bed, finally getting a chance to relax. Sam had taken the pills solely for that reason. The sooner he did as he was told, the sooner Dean would stand down and get the rest he obviously needed. He had intended to merely lie down and rest his eyes until Dean fell asleep, but the drugs were stronger than they let on, and he felt sleep pulling him down into its embrace. He didn't want to sleep. Sleep brought things that he'd just as soon avoid, especially since he might wake Dean again. But his body had other plans, and he was out in minutes.

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He opened his eyes suddenly. He was overcome with sudden hunger. His stomach was growling loudly. He looked over at Dean, who was slumbering peacefully. He wanted to ignore his stomach but found that he couldn't…the urge to eat was too strong.

_Must be the drugs…._

Drew's face flashed in front of his bleary eyes. He felt Drew's fangs digging into his chest. He saw the feral look in those blue eyes. He saw the blood drenching Drew's chin when he looked up into his face.

Sam shook his head, but the memory still danced behind his eyes. He wiped his face with his hand. There was a…_tightness_ in his mouth that he couldn't identify. He walked silently around the room, looking over the meager food supplies they had left there a week earlier. Nothing seemed to catch his eye. His legs and groin ached as he walked; the ache of his bite wounds and torture scars making it difficult to move. Before long he had circled the entire room, his hunger growing with each step. He found himself beside Dean's bed, looking down at his resting brother. Without thinking, he leaned down until he was mere inches away, and stared intently at Dean's face.

_Why am I doing this?_

The proximity must have alerted Dean somehow, because his eyes snapped open and his brow furrowed when he saw Sam so close.

"Sammy?"

Sam smiled for reasons that passed his understanding. He was _so hungry_. The strange tightness in his mouth shifted and he felt a new set of teeth descend over his own. He launched himself forward and his smile grew manic as his teeth sank into the tender flesh of Dean's neck. His older brother's screams filled his ears, making him wince…but the blood tasted **so** _sweet_….

Sam felt himself rising.

"NOOOO!"

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Dean awoke with a start to the all too familiar sound of Sam screaming. He bolted out of the bed, finding Sam sitting ramrod straight in his own bed, eyes darting wildly, hands fisting the sheets and making his knuckles white. Sweat and tears were streaming down the younger boy's pale face. He stepped forward, but when Sam saw him, he skittered off the bed and backed away like a frightened animal.

"Sammy?"

His voice seemed to overwhelm Sam, who clutched his head and bolted into the bathroom as quickly as his injured legs would carry him. Dean followed groggily. He found Sam hunched over the sink, dry heaving. Dean rubbed his back, trying to help.

"Sam? What happened? Another nightmare?"

Sam's retching eased, and he drank some water before looking up at Dean. The look in his eyes was heartbreaking; whatever he'd seen must have terrified him. Without warning, Sam moved forward and put his arms around Dean, head buried in his shoulder and hanging on for dear life.

Dean was starting to freak out a little; Sam had gone from hiding his emotions in the hospital…to a full meltdown. He held onto his trembling brother and wondered if he had made a mistake coming back here. _The scene of the crime_. _Maybe we shouldn't have come back to THIS hotel room_.

"Sam…was it a vision?" he asked, taking a shot in the dark.

Sam's grip tightened, "I hope not."

"What was it?"

Sam stiffened, as if he'd just realized where he was, and pulled back a little. He didn't let go, but he had regained some control it seemed. The sudden shift didn't help Dean's nerves any. Sam sniffled, and cleared his throat, but his voice still came out raspy.

"Uh…it's…it's stupid. Goddammit…I **hate** being so…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up…."

_A little late for that, Sammy, _Dean thought. He kept it to himself. One thing the doctor had made clear was that if he seemed at all impatient or hostile to Sam's predicament, Sam might close up on himself. Dean kept his voice even, despite his severe lack of rest.

"It's not stupid, Sam. Tell me what happened."

"I…I don't know what's _real_ anymore…Dean…I thought…I mean I dreamt…I dreamt I was changed, I bit you…you were…oh, God…."

Dean nodded. He put his arm around Sam's shoulders and guided him back to the bed. _Not as easy to reach over him nowadays…I liked it better when I was the taller one_. He sat Sam on the bed and sank next to him. They were almost touching, close but not in each other's personal space.

Dean studied Sam a moment and sighed, he was beginning to understand now. Sam's persistent and incessant nightmares had been blurring reality for the younger boy ever since he had left Stanford. He had always managed to keep the two separate…well, most of the time…but now Drew had stripped away the self-control and the will that had always been there. Now his dreams were running amok and Sam couldn't handle it. Drew and his cronies had broken whatever Sam used to hold himself together the last few months, and all the guilt, grief and rage Sam had been carrying around since their Dad died was rushing out uncontrolled. _It's_ _an avalanche_.

"What? You think you're going to change into one of them?"

Sam shrugged, eyes not rising from the carpet.

Dean sighed quietly, "Sam, I cleaned the wounds, remember?" he noted how Sam still blushed at that thought, "and anyway, if you were gonna change, you would have done it _days_ ago."

Sam looked up at him, seemed to consider that, and then nodded slowly, "I guess you're right. Dean, I'm…I don't know what's going on anymore." He sounded absolutely miserable.

Dean pursed his lips, and then said what he'd been thinking for the last few days, "I do. I think you were put through hell. Those fucking vampires took almost everything from you, and you're mind is trying to cope…in its own weird, Sammy-way I guess," Sam smiled at that, "I don't think you're crazy. And I really, _really_ don't think you're weak."

Sam looked up sharply at that, Dean raised his eyebrows, challenging Sam to deny it. He kept going.

"That's what you were gonna say just a minute ago, right? You 'hate being so' _weak_. Well, you're wrong, Sam. You're not weak. You survived all the shit they did to you…hell, you saved my life on that road. Remember? If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead, or worse. They beat you, tortured you for two days, but even beaten and bled out you still managed to _save my ass_ out there. That's not weak."

Sam stared at Dean for a minute, and then bit his lip. He looked like he was gathering strength for something. When he spoke, Dean had to strain to hear all of it.

"I've been having more nightmares than you think…I've been hiding some of them."

Dean favored him with a smile, "I've noticed more than _you think_, Sammy."

Sam snorted, "Yeah, I've always been a lousy liar…."

Dean shrugged, "You have your moments, Boy Wonder," he paused, and then added, "You don't have to hide anything from me, Sam. Actually, it's probably better if you don't."

Sam nodded, "I know…I'm sorry I didn't trust you. It's just so…."

"Humiliating."

"Yeah."

"I'll never think any less of you, Sam. No matter what happens," Dean stated softly, "you've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Sam stared at him for a moment, before a small smirk graced his mouth. He shook his head and punched Dean's thigh lightly.

"You're such a girl."

Dean ruffled Sam's hair, "You're such a bitch."

They sat silently for a few minutes, just being there next to each other. Dean had missed that simple feeling during the past few weeks. He felt that, finally, things were getting back on an even keel between them. Their positions had reversed in the last week. After the funeral, Sam had taken care of Dean…now, after their vampire 'adventure,' it was Dean's turn to take care of Sam. Dean wondered if the world sometimes balanced itself out like that, but he pushed his wandering thoughts aside for more practical considerations.

"I know it's hard, but we really need sleep, dude. We got a long drive to New York tomorrow. We're gonna crash and burn if we don't get some shut eye."

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Sam settled back into bed, for the second time this evening. He noted abstractly that his wounds weren't stinging as much now, which was probably due to the painkillers. Of course, now they were starting to itch. _Figures_.

He was starting to doze off when he felt something heavy slide into his bed and a sudden warmth pressed up against his back. He turned to find Dean lying with his back towards him.

"Dean?"

"Just in case you need help…if the nightmares come back."

"Dude, this is weird," he protested. Dean hadn't shared a bed with him since they were teenagers. Even then, Dean had complained that sleeping with Sam, who was growing into "all elbows and boney legs," was more akin to getting beaten to death than anything restful.

"Shut up and sleep, Sammy."

_Oh, mother-hen again…._

He settled back onto his side and had just closed his eyes when he heard Dean murmur.

"I've got your back, little brother."

Sam smiled to himself. _Always_.

Sam drifted off to sleep, hearing little except for Dean's steady breathing.

An hour later, Dean had rolled over and his arm was draped lazily over Sam, and Sam snored softly. They enjoyed their first dream-free sleep in two months.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

_More than one person has asked how I keep the boys in character; well the only method I've come up with is to imagine hearing the actors saying the lines I'm writing. If I can hear Jensen and Jared say it in my head convincingly, then it works. If not, I have to rewrite until it does. It seems to work pretty well._

_I think if you can hear/see them doing it on the show convincingly, then you can make them do just about anything in a story._

_This is the last chapter of the main story…but there will be an epilogue, then that's "all she wrote."_

_I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed. _

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**Chapter 11**

Dean awoke to find himself tied in a knot.

At least, that was what it seemed like. His eyes drifted open, only to be greeted by a lightly snoring Sammy, whose freakishly long arms and legs were tangled around him pretzel style. He tried to pull his trapped limbs free without waking his brother, who seemed, for once, to be resting peacefully. Every time he got close to freedom, Sam shifted and trapped him again.

_Great…I forgot about the way he sleeps. It's like wrestling an octopus. _His half-awake brain summoned the scene from _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_, which he remembered seeing as a child, only with Sam substituted for the squid. _Seems about right, the arms are just as long….wow, that's a strange thought._

He shook off the odd imagery, and turned his attention back to getting out from under Snoozing Geek Boy. It was uncanny…every move he made, Sam countered without stirring. It was like they were in an unconscious sparring match.

Finally, he gave up and decided to wake Sam up. He hated doing that. _How often does he get to really rest like this?_ But, Mother Nature made his final decision for him.

"Sammy," he whispered, "wake up…."

Sam furrowed his brow slightly and mumbled, "No school t'day…go back sleep…."

Dean smirked, Sam was clearly in his own little world, which made him feel bad about this, but his predicament was worsening by the minute.

"Sam, come on man…I gotta go to the bathroom."

A few non-starts later, and Sam's eyes slowly opened.

"Hmm? Dean?"

"Morning, Sunshine…mind letting me up?"

Sam blinked, and then looked down. He wrinkled his nose when he saw how tangled they were. It took several seconds for his drowsy mind to find the right sequence of motions needed to move out of Dean's space. Dean wasted no time getting to the bathroom once he was free.

Coming out, he climbed back on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and watching Sam lounge comfortably. He glanced up at the wall clock…one of the few wall ornaments in the room that had survived Sam's battle with the vampires…and noted the time.

10:00AM

They'd slept nearly fifteen hours. No wonder he had needed to go. His stomach growled loudly, startling him, and attracting Sam's eyes toward him. Dean looked back at him and shrugged. He pursed his lips in thought.

"You slept like a log, Sam. I didn't get elbowed or kicked even once…."

"First time for everything, I guess."

"You know, uh…if you ever tell anyone I slept in your bed last night…I'll kick your ass. You know that, right?"

Sam smirked and gestured nonchalantly, "Yeah, we're on the same page."

Dean nodded once in approval.

"We gotta get moving Sam. We got a ten hour drive ahead of us…and that's without traffic."

Sam seemed a little slow on the uptake, but nodded eventually.

"You want the shower first?" he asked with a yawn.

Dean was struck by the parallel. Sam had asked him that same question in this room a nearly week earlier. He remembered his answer, too.

"Nah, you go ahead," he said, then added, "I'll get our stuff into the car."

_I'll be glad to leave this hotel…._

Dean got most of their belongings packed away while Sam got cleaned up. It was taking him longer than usual, since he had to change all the bandages. He hoped hat Sam's uneventful night was a good sign. _He really needs a break from all his problems_. Well, that's what this trip to see Sarah had originally been all about anyway.

Sam exited the bathroom only wearing his pants. Dean noted fewer bandages than before.

"How you doing?"

Sam frowned as he picked his shirt up from the bed, "Well, I'm healing up, so that's good…on the other hand the painkillers have worn off."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, well, she only gave you a day's worth. Just use aspirin like the rest of us. Hungry?"

Sam just shrugged.

Dean frowned. _Not exactly the response I was hoping for…._

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When Dean came out of the shower, he found Sam leaning against the headboard of his bed, knees pressed to his chest. He was writing in their Dad's journal, which was perched between his knees. Dean tried to look casual as he moved between the beds and began putting his clothes on, all the while looking over Sam's shoulder.

He was writing an entry about the vampires, apparently combining what little their dad and Daniel Elkins knew with what they knew now. Dean bit his lip, debating whether or not to pry. Sam, though, seemed to read his mind.

"I need to do this…."

That way Sam had of reading him always freaked him out a little.

"Why?" he asked.

"In case we ever find any more of them…we'll have a better idea of what to expect," Sam answered quietly. He continued to scribble down notes, some coherent, some rambling excerpts of memory. Dean leaned over to get a better look, but could only make out a few words from his spot near the nightstand.

_Can bite without turning…sadistic behavior…cruel treatment of victims…_

He glanced at Sam's face, noticing the odd blankness in his brother's eyes. He went back to compulsively biting his lip.

"Sammy…."

Sam looked at him, the blank gaze returning to something approaching normal.

"Like you said…I need to get this out. If I wait…I may never be able to write all this stuff down again. I just want to get it over with and move on."

Dean regarded him for a moment, wanting to say something, but just nodded. _What can I say to that? _He forced down a protective urge to tell Sam to simply forget about all of it. After all, this was a good thing, right? _It's therapeutic_.

He finished packing, Sam finished writing, and then they both left the hotel for the last time.

Ten minutes later, the only evidence they had _ever_ been in the room was the small dent in the cheap plaster wall, and a small blood stain, where Sam Winchester's face had impacted painfully a week before.

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Breakfast was quick and cheap. Fast food eaten in the car. Dean had thought about taking Sam to meet Stella, the only person in this town that he would remember with any fondness. She had been both kind _and_ helpful, sadly a rare combination in their kind of work, but he discarded the notion, not wanting to put Sam out in public just yet. He knew Sam would never admit to it, but despite the progress he'd made in the hospital and the previous night, he was still skittish. He jumped at loud noises and sudden movements. He still instinctively flinched whenever Dean reached toward him or stood over him. Not that Dean took offense, he was sure he'd be the same way if their places were reversed. So, public places were definitely out for the moment, until Sam could rebuild his self-control.

His appetite was another thing in need of repair. Sam made a nice show of eating, but in the end only took three bites of a hash brown before shifting to simply stare out at the passing scenery. Dean decided to let that go for a while…he'd revisit it in a day or so, and if Sam still wasn't eating he'd intervene. _No need to push him on everything_.

He heard Sam talking softly out the open window.

"I won't miss this town."

Dean looked over at him, wondering if he was meant to hear that. He decided to think that he was, "Me neither, bro." _I'll make sure we never come back. I promise_.

They passed Sam's Diner as Dean made for the Interstate. He watched Sam notice it. Years ago, little Sammy would always point out stores, restaurants and other sites along the road that bore his name. He was a long time removed from verbally pointing it out, but Dean knew that he would still smile a little when he saw one. Sam did the same today. He used it as an opening.

"Decent food…pleasant help."

Sam glanced at him, but then returned to the window view, "How do you know the place?"

"Oh…well, that's uh…that's where I met our 'friend' Drew the first time. You know, old story…vampire meets Dean, vampire tells Dean he has Sam, Dean breaks vampire's nose…blood everywhere…Dean leaves waitress a big tip…it's a classic." He glanced at Sam, hoping his attempt at humor might get across.

But Sam was staring at something only he could see, and a hard glint had appeared in his eyes.

"I hope it hurt like hell when you hit him…."

Dean felt a chill at Sam's cold tone. It wasn't like him…to be so _vindictive_. No, Dean didn't like the sound of that at all.

"I'm sure it did," he equivocated, keeping his eyes forward but watching Sam out of the corner, "but I'm just glad it's all _over_."

Sam didn't react; he seemed frozen in the passenger seat.

_"See? Aren't you glad it's over?"_

_Sam didn't answer. He wasn't capable of speaking at that moment. Drew eyed him coldly and motioned for the others to haul Sam down out of the chains. They did so, roughly, letting him drop to the floor in a heap. Sam didn't have the strength to cry out, so he just moaned softly. They hoisted him up by his numb arms and dragged him across the room. Blood trickled from some of the most recent wounds and he could swear he still felt static playing across his body after the electrocution._

_Drew followed, speaking casually as if he and Sam had become friends, "You know, Sammy…if you'd told me what I wanted to know, it might have gone a lot better for you."_

_Sam forced his eyes to meet Drew's, his seething hatred of this vampire was dampened by fear. He didn't want to piss him off again…he couldn't take anymore. He wished they'd just kill him._

_Two of the others lifted him up and slammed him down onto the wooden table. The impact aggravated his aching muscles and limbs. He heard a clinking sound, like more chains or handcuffs, but he couldn't lift his head to look at the sources of the noise. He just tried to breathe. He was forced to make eye contact again when Drew roughly jerked his face back. _

_"Maybe we'll get your brother in here… and we'll see if he breaks like you did. Or are you the weak one of the two? Well…then again, you killed your own father…maybe you have balls after all…though I don't know for how much longer." He snapped the pliers he was still holding open and shut threateningly, making motions down Sam's body with them._

_Sam wanted to answer. He wanted to tell Drew to fuck off. More than that, he just wanted to sleep. To forget that this was happening. He fought, and failed, to keep from shivering under Drew's malevolent gaze. The vampire laughed at him. With a final punch to Sam's bruised left side, Drew tossed the pliers over onto a smaller table and stalked from the room. _

_Please, God…don't let them find Dean._

"Sam!"

Dean watched Sam flinch, instantly feeling a stab of guilt, but the kid had phased out on him and had started gently rocking back and forth with a pained expression. Sam turned to him and looked surprised to see anybody else in the car.

"Huh? Dean---I'm sorry…what were you saying?"

"I said I'm just glad it's over," Dean replied softly.

"Oh…yeah…me too," Sam answered, acting like he'd been caught passing notes in school.

Dean frowned and stared at Sam for a moment before returning his eyes to the road.

"Sam…we didn't take you out of the hospital too soon, did we? I mean…you'd tell me if you were still hurt, right?"

Sam looked at him, "Yeah, of course, Dean. I'm okay, really."

_Yeah, sure. Physically maybe_.

Sam must have been reading him again in that freaky way, because he kept talking, "Look…Dean, I---I just need some time, okay? It's been a long week."

Dean couldn't stop himself from chuckling, and he hoped Sam wouldn't take it the wrong way, "Yeah, for _both_ of us, man."

Dean turned onto the entrance ramp for the Interstate, heading east. He glanced over at his companion, who was wearing a somewhat less spaced out expression now.

"If I could trade places with you, I _would_…in a heartbeat, bro. You know that, don't you?"

Sam shook his head, "I wouldn't want that."

"Still…."

Sam stared at him for moment, and then broke into a sudden grin, again startling Dean with a mood swing.

"That…might work for me…."

Dean looked at him sideways, unable to tell what exactly Sam meant by that, "It…it would?"

Sam's grin broadened, "Yeah…'cause that means that _I_ would be the one kicking Drew's ass to get to _you_…."

Dean scowled at Sam, who seemed to think this was hilarious. Inwardly, he reveled in the sound of his little brother's genuine laughter…for the first time thinking that things were going to be okay after all.

Sam quirked an eyebrow, "License plate game?"

Dean smiled inwardly, they'd played their own version of the old license plate game while driving on Interstates on and off since Sam was sixteen. They each picked a state, and whoever had seen more when time was up bought beer at dinner.

"You're on, wise ass."

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The trip across Ohio and Pennsylvania passed without incident…although Dean cussed so much in traffic jams around Columbus and Youngstown that Sam told him that he needed to invent new ones to keep the tirade going. They talked…really talked…this time while on the road. This leg of the trip bore little resemblance to the part before the stop in Ohio. After a short lull in conversation, Dean piped up.

"Oh, yeah…I was gonna tell you…I, uh…I looked at that dog attack article you were telling me about…and I checked Dad's journal."

Sam looked surprised, "You did?"

"Yeah. Maybe it's worth looking into after all. Wanna take a crack at it after we've been at Sarah's a few days? It's only an hour away from her house."

Sam hesitated, and Dean knew that it would be a big step, jumping back into hunting again. Sam might balk at the idea. But, then again, this would be easy; he was all but certain it was just a rabid dog or wolf anyway. It would be an easy job, and might help Sam build up his defenses too. Most importantly, this was Dean's final peace offering regarding the night Sam was abducted. They'd argued over Dean not wanting to even look at their late father's belongings. He hoped Sam would take this action now for what it was: one last apology. Sam seemed to understand.

"Sounds…like a plan."

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The Interstate-80 leg across Pennsylvania was long and mind-numbing, although the license plate game went on to an all-time high score. Sam counted 140 Ohio plates. Dean counted 167 Indianas. But he only reported 120 to Sam. He wanted Sam to win one for a change. He usually cranked up some AC/DC on the radio as a distraction, but kept the music to a minimum this time. The tactic worked, and Sam seemed insufferably pleased with himself as he gloated over Dean's first loss…since he was _Sam's_ age.

They stopped outside Scranton for dinner around 9:00 PM. They chose a rather secluded, but clean and safe looking tavern off the highway. When they settled in, Sam surprised him. When the waitress walked up to take their drink order, Sam requested two beers.

Dean blinked, "Dude, that's my---"

"Hey, I lost fair and square," Sam interrupted, "140 to 167."

Dean was surprised, to say the least, "Hey, no fair, man…you using that Shining thing of yours on me?"

Sam grinned, "No, didn't have too. I knew you were letting me win…I was counting yours too. Plus, you didn't turn up the radio."

_Damn_. Sometimes Dean forgot just how sharp his brother was.

"Hey…sorry, I thought---"

Sam favored him with a smile, "S'okay…I appreciate the…" he trailed off, then just shrugged, "It's okay."

Dean let the waitress deliver their beers before plunging ahead, "You feeling alright? I mean…you seem…a little _happier_ tonight, I guess…."

Not to mention that Sam's appetite was back…he had ordered _alot_ of food.

Sam seemed to find his concern touching, judging by the look on his face, he replied without taking his eyes off his beer bottle.

"Thanks to you…."

Dean wasn't sure what to say to that…he didn't trust his voice to respond calmly in any event, so he said nothing. Sam didn't comment on his obvious discomfort.

"The road to recovery isn't going to be a short one, Dean."

Dean furrowed his brow at that, "What?"

Sam snorted with mild amusement, "While you were in the shower I read all those pamphlets on depression and post-traumatic stress you took from the hospital. One of them talked about 'the road to recovery.'"

Dena cringed. He had grabbed those in hopes of figuring out how to help Sam get over his ordeal. He hadn't wanted Sam to see them, though.

"Oh…wait, you went through my bag?"

Sam smiled lopsidedly, "No. You forgot to pack them."

"Oh…well then…." Dean shrugged. _Tried to keep those out of sight…._

Sam was still smiling, though Dean could clearly see he was struggling with keeping his emotions in check.

"Nice to have someone to travel with…" Sam said.

He wasn't referring to the car ride to New York. Dean understood that. He raised his beer bottle in a toast and offered a reassuring smile.

"To the road ahead, little brother."

Sam reciprocated, "To the road ahead."

They clinked the bottles and drank together.


	12. Epilogue

_Well, this is it. The ride is over. I had a blast writing this and I'm honored so many took the time to enjoy it along with me. Funny…as I come to this I realize that it's hard to let it end. Part of me wants to keep it going forever…but that's impractical._

_A very sincere thank you goes to everyone who read and especially everyone who reviewed. You made this story possible on so many levels._

_I have an idea for a sequel, of sorts, mainly set in New York while the boys stay with Sarah. It's just now percolating though. For the moment, I get to go back to simply reading everyone else's stories…and finishing my long overdue Battlestar Galactica piece._

_I don't own anything. Final reviews welcomed. _

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**Epilogue**

It wasn't a wild dog. Sam's initial evaluation was correct…as it so often was. A hell hound, or Black Dog, according to their Dad's journal, was on the loose in the northern section of Catskill Park. A night of running and shouting, culminating in a rock salt shootout wasn't what Dean had in mind when he pitched this "easy job" to Sam.

Dean ran over to where Sam lay slumped against the car door. Sam's right forearm was scratched up pretty badly, but thankfully the damage was superficial. _Dammit! He's recovering from being assaulted and tortured by vampires and I have to take him out hunting phantoms...what the hell is wrong with me?_

"Sam…oh, man…I'm sorry…I didn't think---"

Sam's laughter cut off Dean's apology. Dean looked at his brother as if the younger one had grown a second head.

"Two nights at Sarah's, four nights after leaving the hospital," Sam choked out between giggles, "and I'm mauled by the ghost of Lassie…."

Dean couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto his face, "Well, you do have this way of attracting attention to yourself." He finished wrapping gauze around Sam's abrasions and hauled him to his feet, "Seriously, you okay?"

Sam nodded almost merrily. Dean stared at him with concern, wondering if Sam hadn't gone crazy or something. Sam noticed the look.

"Dude, it's fine. It felt good blasting that thing back to hell. Better than wallowing around up here," he tapped his temple with his left hand.

Dean tried to frown but ended up smiling again, "You need therapy, you know that?"

Sam smelled his clothes, "What I _need_ is a shower…I smell like dog slobber," he paused and looked at Dean, "and so do you for that matter…."

Dean scowled and pointed to the passenger side door, "Oh, you're hilarious. Get in the car, Samantha."

During the drive back, Sam told Dean about a report he saw in the paper about some missing teenagers in Poughkeepsie. It was the fifth potential job he'd pitched that night.

"I think we should check it out."

Dean shook his head, "Dude, we're here to see Sarah…so _you_ can see Sarah. We aren't running all over New York chasing bad guys while you've got a _smokin' hottie_ waiting for you. What kind of big brother would I be if I let you miss out on that?"

Sam frowned, "Is _Dean Winchester_ passing up a **job**?"

Dean frowned, a sudden irritation overriding the filter in his brain, and shouted back, "No, Dean Winchester just got his baby brother back after he almost _died_ and doesn't want to see him back in the hospital for a LONG time!"

Sam looked stricken, any previous good humor lost. Dean didn't know what to say for a minute. Sam just turned to stare out the windshield silently.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to…I just…look. Didn't those pamphlets say something about 'avoidance' and 'denial?' It just seems to me you're trying to keep us busy so you won't have to---"

"I know," Sam interrupted, "I know. You're right…I--- I just want things to go back to normal, that's all."

_Heh, "normal_," Dean thought wryly, _that'd be a change for us_. The irony of Sam referring to hunting as 'normal' wasn't lost on him either.

"They will, Sammy. Don't rush it. Besides, Sarah took a _month's_ vacation just so she could spend time with you. We owe her…and I think you could _use_ some shore leave."

Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Sam, who rolled his eyes in exasperation. But the smile that graced his features was impossible to miss.

"Uh-huh…you know it. Come on, say it."

Sam set his jaw, "No."

"Saa-mmy..." Dean sing-songed, "Come on, say what we agreed on."

"_We_ didn't agree on anything---"

"_Sam_."

Sam sighed dramatically, "Fine. _You're right, Dean_. You're _always_ right."

"And why is that?"

Another sigh, "Because you're the older brother."

Dean nodded in approval, satisfied.

"You're also an asshole."

Dean held his extended middle finger to his ear, pointed at Sam, "Sorry, I didn't catch that last part."

This time Sam laughed out loud.

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The first four days at Sarah's place passed without incident, despite the interlude with Satan's pooch. Dean kicked back and enjoyed the _very_ nice house; he had forgotten that her family was rich. Sam had a different experience. Sam had Matchmaker Dean to contend with. He made sure that Sam and Sarah went out at least once every day or night. He steered them towards not-so-populated events, like late-night movies and walks in parks.

Of course, Dean followed. He hated to spy, but given the events in Ohio there was no way in hell he was going to let Sam out of his sight in any public place…even for a little while. He didn't tell Sam what he was doing, and always made sure he was back in the house before Sam returned, so as not to tip him off. He would ask how things went, keeping pleasantly innocent expressions on his face as Sam recounted edited versions of the evenings. Dean didn't reveal that he knew about the "deleted scenes" already. _Raunchy stuff…I'll need medication so I won't remember seeing it…ever._

Sam was falling for Sarah, hard. Dean would have been able to tell even if they hadn't been related. Dean himself was more of a one-night stand kind of guy, but he felt overjoyed that his younger brother was finding something to be happy about. _More power to him_. The best part was that the developing relationship seemed to be doing wonders for Sam. His nightmares were diminishing in intensity; Dean had only been awoken once so far. He still kept the door between his and Sam's room open, though, just in case.

The fourth night kept the lovebirds at home, since a severe thunderstorm hit the area. Dean cooked them all dinner…well, he tried.

"Hey, I can cook!" he retorted when Sam doubted his plan.

They feasted on hot dogs and spaghetti. _Dinner of champions!_

They didn't foresee any problems for day five.

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Sam woke up early, sunlight hitting him in the eyes. _God…the sun must be right outside the window! _He glanced down, finding himself under the covers in his guest bed…which was odd since he distinctly remembered nodding off in the living room, while the three of them watched movies and Dean told Sarah ghost stories. Dean hated doing that, since it wasn't _fiction_ to him…but he was willing to entertain Sarah. That made Sam happy…even if Dean made Sam the butt of most of the humor...not to mention a frequent "damsel in distress." It meant alot to him that Dean was willing to make such gestures. He really wanted Dean to like Sarah…especially since he was….

What _was_ he feeling? It seemed familiar, but he hadn't felt anything like it since college. _Since Jessica_. He frowned, expecting a sudden wave of sadness to overcome him at the thought of Jess...but nothing happened. His tired brain couldn't wrap itself around whatever that meant.

_Don't over think it, Sammy._

He still heard Dean's voice in his head, but it was going away. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or depressed. He'd started thinking of that little Dean-Voice as his guardian angel…if such things existed. _Well, the real thing is sleeping about twenty feet from you, go in there and wake him up if you want to hear him talk_. Sam thought about it for a moment, and decided that he didn't want to hear _that_ voice when it had been prematurely woken up for no reason. Slowly bringing himself upright, he gathered his clothes and headed for the shower.

Once the water was cascading over him, he took stock of his condition. The scrapes and scratches from the Black Dog were already fading away. The burn scars from the hot poker were healed…they would never fully go away. The worst of the bruising and scarring below the waistline was almost gone. He was able to walk without hobbling now. Better yet, he could pee without pain. _Every guy's fantasy_, he thought with a chuckle.

What worried him was the line of electrical burns dotting his lower abdomen. They were healing slower…probably because his pants were constantly rubbing against them. The angry red blobs served as a constant reminder of the worst part of his torture. It hurt to touch them…even thinking about it too long brought on phantom pains. He shook himself out of that downward spiral and focused on washing his hair. He'd promised Dean he'd get a haircut today…if for no other reason than because the elder sibling had taken to calling him "the shaggy dog."

By the time he had replaced the bandages on his remaining wounds, Dean and Sarah were already downstairs, eating breakfast. He trotted down the stairs, greeting Dean while the other poured cereal, and greeting Sarah with a kiss. One he had trouble pulling out of….

"Argh! Get a room, you two. I'm trying to eat here!" Dean cried in mock horror. He dodged a thrown dish towel before they stopped kissing.

Sarah went out to retrieve the morning paper while Sam sat and ate. He noticed Dean staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face. He sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring at me."

"Well, you're funny lookin.'"

Sam shook his head and turned back to his cereal. He heard Dean's next nonchalant comment over the scraping of a knife on toast.

"You know, some animals devour their mates after spawning…."

Sam slowly raised his eyes to Dean, cocking his head at the non sequitur, "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm just saying that was like watching a Nova special…you were going to _consume_ her just now," Dean answered innocently, that grin back on his face. Sam's aim was true this time; the pot holder hit his brother square in the forehead. Dean's laughter filled the room as Sarah returned with the newspaper.

"We need to be careful when we leave…there are a few limbs and power lines down in the driveway from the storm," she warned, "I'll have to call the power company."

A few minutes later, they were headed out the door. As Sam pulled his jacket on he looked at Dean.

"So, what are you going to do while I'm getting my haircut?"

Sarah chimed in, taking Dean's elbow in her arm, "Dean's taking me shopping downtown."

Dean grimaced, "Ah, man!"

Sam failed to keep the grin off his face, "Buy him something nice, Sarah, he's a size ten."

Dean turned the grimace on him, "Shut up."

"You shut up."

"No, you---"

Sarah sighed, dragging them to the door, "Come along boys…."

Sarah was right; there were limbs down all over, even a few on top of Dean's car. Sam headed around to the passenger side while Dean rushed to inspect the damage, cooing ridiculously over some microscopic scratches on the car's roof. Sam turned passed the front bumper and that's when he saw it. The power line was lying in a heap just a few feet from the car, in the grass. The frayed end sparked and sizzled fiercely. The feeling hit him like a punch.

_Tell me his name!_

Sam clutched at his stomach with a gasp as the bandaged wounds seemed to explode back to life. The dull ache of the burns blossomed into a fiery wave of pain. Drew's face floated before his eyes, sneering at his helplessness. Sam screwed his eyes shut, but Drew's face wouldn't leave him.

_Come on, Sam…it's just a little name…then I'll let you rest for minute…_

Sam shivered at the sudden cold. The muscles in his chest tightened painfully. He clutched at his shirt, trying in vain to relieve the pressure. He couldn't breathe.

_His arms tingled with numbness…the room was so cold…the extension cord snapped and sizzled in Drew's fist…Drew laughed when he screamed, and mocked him when he cried…_

_Pain crashed over him like a tide when the wires touched him…his nerve endings were on fire…the smell of ozone and burning flesh assaulted his senses…_

Sam heard voices behind him, but he couldn't turn around, all he could see was the cabin. He felt something hard and unforgiving slam into his knees and he doubled over. He saw stars behind his eyes.

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Dean heard Sam gasp, and looked up in time to see Sam collapse to the pavement. He practically bounded over the car towards his brother.

"Sam!"

Sam couldn't answer, he was hyperventilating. Dean took him by the shoulders and tried to calm him down.

"Sammy…hey, it's alright…just breathe, man…Sam!"

Dean wasn't sure what to do…he didn't know what had spurred Sam's apparent panic attack. Sarah, looking over Sam's shoulder in the direction he'd been looking, connected the dots faster than Dean.

"It's the power line…let's get him back in the house."

It took both of them to wrestle Sam's struggling form into the house. They deposited him on the sofa lying down and Sarah went to get water. Sam's breathing was evening out, but his eyes were still clamped shut, his arms were wrapped protectively around his stomach. He was rocking himself slowly. Dean placed his hands on either side of Sam head.

"Sam? Can you hear me?" he asked urgently. If Sam didn't snap out of it soon, they'd have to get him to a hospital. That was something none of them wanted. "Sammy…it's me…can you open your eyes?"

Sam shook his head violently, it was the first response he'd given since falling over outside. Dean ran a hand through Sam's hair, trying to get through to him.

"It's okay…we're in Sarah's house…you're okay…talk to me, man…let me know you're in there."

Sam's breathing finally slowed, and he gradually opened his eyes, like he was afraid of what he might see. His eyes darted around suspiciously, and only after a few scans of the room did he meet Dean's gaze.

"Are…are we…where are we?"

Sam sounded so young in that moment that Dean had to calm himself before answering.

"At Sarah's place. It's just us, Sammy, us and Sarah. We're alone."

With some difficulty, Sam managed to raise himself into a sitting position. Dean steadied him as he rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his face into his hands. Dean cursed himself for not connecting the imagery of the live electrical wire sooner.

Sam had had a handful of panic attacks since arriving in New Paltz. Certain sounds, certain combinations of words, and sudden movements all could trigger the memories of his captivity. The other night Sarah had grabbed his wrist during a scary movie without thinking, and they'd almost had to sedate him. Thankfully, they'd been at the house and away from prying eyes.

_Well, either nightmares or panic attacks, take your pick…._

Dean sat beside Sam on the sofa and draped a nearby blanket over the shivering form. He gently rubbed circles into Sam's back and waited for the attack to pass. Sam took a shaky breath and drew the blanket tighter. A light groan escaped his lips and he glanced over at Dean in confusion. Sometimes he wouldn't remember being moved during an attack.

"Another flashback," Dean said by way of explanation. Sam nodded with a frown.

"I really hoped I was over the worst of those," he looked around slowly, holding his head with one hand to ward off the inevitable headache, "Did Sarah…?"

"She's fine. Stop worrying about _us_…. She went to get you some water," Dean said flatly, "Wanna talk about it?"

Sam sighed, "I honestly don't remember much. I was about to get in the car…then I saw the wire…and I thought I was back in that cabin again…I don't remember too many details."

Dean looked at him suspiciously, Sam noticed, "I swear, Dean. I really don't remember much."

Sam seemed to be telling the truth, so Dean let it drop. Sarah stuck her head in through the doorway and asked if they needed any headache medicine. Dean called back with an affirmative. Sam's flashbacks were often followed by severe headaches. Dean wondered if that was normal, or if it had something to do with Sam's "Shining."

"Hey, why don't you just crash for a while? We can go out later," Dean suggested, pushing Sam gently back towards the cushions. Sarah arrived back with the medicine and water and sat on the other side of Sam.

"Here. Are you okay, Sam?" she asked.

Sam took the offered pills and water, and shrugged, "Yeah…I think. Look, I think Dean's got the right idea…I'm just gonna crash for a while. You don't mind, do you?"

"We can go out later, don't worry about it. I'm going to get someone out here to remove those wires, though, before we go anywhere. Why don't you lie down here on the sofa?"

Sarah left the room after Sam was situated, intent on getting the debris removed from the yard. Dean stayed with Sam, trying to get him relaxed. Sam frowned unhappily.

"I hate this Dean…I thought I was moving on," he said quietly.

"You're doing alot better than last week, Sammy. It's getting better."

Sam didn't seem comforted by that, so Dean tried a different tactic.

"Hey…you get some rest, and later on you can take Sarah out for a nice dinner and forget this ever happened."

Sam perked up at that, and looked at Dean ruefully, "Maybe…but, dude…can you hang a little further back this time. Maybe stay here? I know you're worried, but I think I want to go this one alone, okay?"

Dean was dumbfounded…he was certain Sam hadn't seen him.

"I never...how did you _know_?"

Sam scoffed at him, "Please…I'm going through a rough time, but I'm not stupid, you know."

Dean pursed his lips, "I knew having a psychic brother was going to suck someday…."

"Dean…."

"Okay, okay…just promise you'll call before and after dinner?"

Sam laughed softly, "_Jesus_, Dean…overprotect much?"

"Fine. Don't call. You need space, you got it. Just be careful."

"I will. Thank you."

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Dean sat impatiently on the oversized recliner in Sarah's den. It was after 11:00, and the lovebirds weren't back yet. If he was honest with himself, he would admit to being worried. It was hard to let Sammy out on his own after two weeks of knowing his every move. Dean remembered a similar feeling when Sammy went on his first date in high school. Dad would probably find it funny that Dean was experiencing the same unease now, nearly a decade later.

_Sam's fine. He's a grown up. He's out in public. Everything will be fine._

Dean shook his head, he sounded like some out of control den mother. His thoughts drifted to the hotel and the attack---

_Stop. That was six-to-one…and he still made a decent fight of it. He can take care of himself. Just sit here and watch TV. They'll be back whenever they want and then---_

The front door opened.

_Oh, thank God._

Dean cleared his throat, "So, how'd dinner go?"

"Um…well, we ate at that open air restaurant on the other side of town…the one you told us about. Nice place…." Sam fidgeted and looked at Sarah who seemed equally uneasy.

Dean watched the two worry and his mind immediately went to the worst possible scenario.

"What? Why are--- What happened?"

They both looked at him and spoke at the same time.

"It sucked."

Dean's mouth fell open, "Oh…well. Sorry. My bad. Well, um…what'd you do?"

Sam beamed, "We ate at this pancake house two blocks over."

Sarah snuggled in closer to Sam, "Which was _alot_ better food, by the way."

"Ah…well, it worked out then," Dean offered amicably.

"Yes," Sarah replied, "and now, if you boys will excuse me…I _have_ to get out of these shoes."

As she walked out, Dean moved quietly to his brother's side and patted him on the shoulder, "Good job, Sammy. Couldn't have done better…."

Sam looked at him with confusion etched into his features, "What?"

"You passed, buddy!" Dean beamed, "the old Bad Restaurant Pick test. You passed with flying colors! _And_ picked a better one!"

Sam sputtered for a minute, "You--- You picked that place _on purpose_?"

Dean gave Sam a pitying look and scoffed, "Dude, you don't have as successful a dating record as I do without knowing how to pick a good place to eat on sight."

"This…this was a test?" when Dean nodded, Sam threw his hands up, "What--- What if I'd screwed it all up?"

"_Please_, you're my brother, you have amazing girl-wooing ability…it's hereditary. But, don't worry, it's over and you did just fine."

Dean would never know what Sam was about to say because Sarah picked that exact moment to re-enter the room and take a spot close to Sam.

"Listen, Sam," she spoke softly, "I've been thinking…you had a pretty rough morning…you probably shouldn't be alone. Why, um, why don't you stay with me in my room tonight?"

Dean felt his eyebrows shoot up at that, he glanced at Sam, who was looking about as stunned as Dean felt.

Sarah didn't give him a chance to answer; she just looked at Dean, offered a goodnight, and left the room. Dean turned to Sam in awe.

"Dude…she's _awesome_!"

Sam shot him a look, "I…I don't think this is such a good idea…."

"What? Are you insane? This is a _fantastic_ idea, Sam!"

"But, Dean…what if I freak out again like this morning? I mean, what if---"

"Sammy. She's been helping me play nurse all week. She's totally into you, and she obviously doesn't mind…so if she wants to play** doctor** now, I say _let her_."

Sam glared, "That's lewd, even for you."

Dean responded by all but dragging Sam down the hall, "Enough of your big college words, Sammy. It's go time." He stopped when they reached Sarah's closed door. He nodded Sam on with a grin. Much to his delight, Sam apparently gave in, and slowly entered the room. The door closed with a CLICK.

Dean leaned back against the wall, congratulating himself on a matchmaking well done. He was beat. His bed seemed to beckon to him from across the hall. _Taking care of Sam and his love-life is a full time job…._

_Then why am I still standing here?_

It took Dean a moment to realize why he hadn't moved yet, he was debating with himself; in the end, his lesser big brotherly instincts won out. About ten minutes after Sam had entered, when the normal talking had gradually softened to hushed whispers, Dean moved to Sarah's door.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

"Hey, Sam?"

A second and some scuffing sounds later, Sam opened the door, his button down shirt hanging open.

"Yeah?" Sam asked…just a hint of impatience in his voice.

"I was thinking about making breakfast for you two tomorrow. Does Sarah like waffles?"

Sam blinked at him for a moment, as if Dean had just spoken nonsense, "Um, it's okay, Dean, really. You've done enough."

"You sure? It's no problem, man."

"I'm sure."

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Dean." Sam closed the door.

A moment went by; Dean struggled with his mouth, trying to subdue the grin that was dying to form.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

"Hey, Sam?"

A moment, more scuffing, and what sounded distinctly like a sigh later, and Sam reappeared in the door, his shirt now completely off and held rather comically in front of his bare chest, blocking Dean's view.

"What?" he sounded a tad irritated this time.

Dean struggled with his rebellious facial expressions, "Hey, I was just wondering…Sarah's has that thing tomorrow night…you want to check out those missing kids in Poughkeepsie?"

Sam looked exasperated, but his voice was congenial when he spoke, "Yeah, sure, man. I'll get the articles out in the morning and we'll take a look."

"Great!"

"_Goodnight_, Dean."

The door closed again. Another few moments went by.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

"Hey, Sam?"

A muffled curse and some scuffling and the door snapped open, this time only Sam's head poking out.

"_What?_" he definitely sounded irritated this time.

Dean smiled as if nothing was wrong, "Sorry, I forgot to tell Sarah goodnight."

_"Goodnight, Dean!"_ Sarah's equally irritable voice called from inside the room.

Sam placed a decidedly forced looking smile on his face and retreated into the room. The door closed, and Dean didn't bother keeping his grin in check anymore.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

"Hey, Sam?"

THE END


End file.
